


Wild

by MoonandWinter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Anger, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guilty Draco, Hurt/Comfort, Just the two of them, M for later chapters, Magical Creatures, Not Epilogue Compliant, Passion, Slow Burn, Slow burn but worth it, dangerous activities, kinda fun, kinda sad, kinda very sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonandWinter/pseuds/MoonandWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had expected her to take an office job at the ministry, to settle down and live a quiet life. It seemed they all forgot she was, in fact, a Gryffindor who craved knowledge. Draco felt a shame unlike anything before. On his shoulders sat the disgrace he and his family earned. A chance encounter one could very well call fate brings these two together. What happens next, no one could have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wild in Fate

Hermione Granger had been the third in a famous trio of young heroes. She had faced death multiple times and had fought the darkest of wizards. There would be tales of her times during the war and of her adventures with her best friends told for many years.

But when the battle ended, when the smoke had cleared and dust had settled, Hermione watched as her friends grew and gained a proud confidence. The boys had become men, finding their place in the new world and making it theirs.

She, on the other hand, was left confused and a little lost. Many expected her to take a position within the ministry. Some even whispered about her becoming a professor at Hogwarts, and while these were all noble careers in of themselves, she couldn’t shake the strange twist to her stomach at the thought.

The thought of… not being. _Of not doing._

That summer, nearly a year after the bloody battle at Hogwarts, she fled The Burrow. Not many people could understand her need, but Harry had known. He always did in that silent way of his. She was sure it would take Ron years before he could comprehend why they didn’t work as a couple but she was positive he would be rather busy, what with all of his Auror work. Her heart was hurting in its loss but she determined to find her place.

To a witch who had experienced the adventure, the taste of adrenaline and excitement, there was no going back. Not that she had been one to simply sit and do as she’d been told. When she discovered she was a witch, she jumped head first, the drive to learn, to know, to be apart had overcome any of her anxieties.

The same could be said for her now. Hermione the Wild, she was called. The girl who chased unknown magical creatures across the land for the sake of knowledge. She who tamed a dragon with soft words and bribes of treats. She who risked life and limb over and over, who felt the absolute need to never stop moving, lest the nightmares return. Wild, they whispered.

Hermione couldn’t resist the call of the unknown. She had never been one to let the challenge of remarkable knowledge go untouched and while many called her mad, she couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

Maybe she was mad. But, for the love of Merlin, she was _living!_

*`*

He was sure no one set out to become the most hated person in the wizarding world. He’d even bet his measly income that his parents hadn’t thought twice about whether or not they had been liked before… Before his privileged and painful world had been flipped and torn to shreds.

Now, however, it wasn’t about being liked. Draco had shunned his father’s teachings of superiority not long after the Death Eaters trails began. After the true crimes of the men Lucius called friends had come to light. The senior Malfoy had unsurprisingly been convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban. It had been a mighty relief to the young man, but he soon realized not all was well.

His mother had been dragged through the trials, both as a conspirator, but as a key figure in the final battle. She’d been spared by Potter’s testimony. They very person he’d been raised to despise had saved the only light left in his life.

Within the few weeks after, Draco watched his mother begin to crumble. The once strong and proud matriarch became sullen and bent. She hid herself away, only letting Draco or the house elves see to her. She spent many hours tearfully flipping through obituaries, even going days without eating saying she had to; that she deserved to feel the pain she and father had caused so many others.

And like the coward he was, he fled. Draco could no longer watch his once beautiful mother fall into a pit of despair so deep that there was no bottom.

But he hadn’t known, that murky London night, speeding through the air with his few belongings strapped to the side of his broom, that he would also be bringing her burden.

Because he too, felt the shame that enveloped her soul. He just didn’t know what it was he was feeling. Not until it was too late.

And it hit him so hard he hasn’t stopped running from it.

Draco Malfoy, disgraced prince of Slytherin, was reduced to secret names and under-the-table jobs in shady places. The once arrogant boy had become a haunted shell of a man, floating just beneath the surface, never feeling comfortable in one place for too long.

Fate is one thing Draco had believed in as a child and while he may have let go of such childish fantasies, the universe was not done with him. Not when two runaways were looking for something neither one could figure out.

* * *

So, I revamped this whole story. When I first posted it, I was hoping to get some feedback to see if a Dramione fic would be something to invest my heart in, but I see now I had no choice. My heart has been in it since I read the first book all those years ago.

So now I will be writing about my couple. I hope you enjoy!

-Moonandwinter


	2. Sleeping Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have revamped the previous chapter and it is GREATLY different. Place take a moment, if you were following this before, to re-read it. Thank you all! 1/29/2015  
> -Moonandwinter

Draco had taken the drastic move of dying his hair a dark brown. He let it grow but did not bother to tame it with magic as his father would have. He needed to be as different as possible. With only the experience of hiding in the halls of Hogwarts, he had tried to melt into crowds, lowered his face and attempted to stay unnoticed during his travels.

Still, there were times when someone would look too closely, ask too many questions and he had to disappear again, fleeing the guilt that twisted cruelly in his stomach. He found even though he could leave the place, the pain would follow.

On unusually warm nights like this, where he sat comfortably watching wide expanse of the night sky, he’d find himself wondering about his old life, the people he used to know. He wondered what they’d think of him now, if they could see him. What they would think of what he’d been reduced too.

A simple man, living off of a small income. He worked with farm animals for Merlin’s sake. They would laugh for years if they knew.

In truth, he didn’t mind the work so much. The hard labor distracted his mind from his darker thoughts. He had been, for the last few weeks, the stable man for an old grizzled wizard who lived on the southern Norwegian coast. They barely understood one another but the work was simple to deduce. Mr. Doufjorn had gotten too old to manage his small heard of sheep and needed help to keep the small cottage they shared from falling into the ground.

Draco had been many things in his life so far, but he could honestly say a farm hand was never one he’d experienced, and while Draco had never even touched a sheep before in his life, he did have something that taught him how. Something that was invaluable and priceless.

It had been a gift from his mother that last year at Hogwarts. The year that he’d been told to do so many evil things that he hadn’t wanted to ever do.

She had snuck it to him, just before he left on the train that year. His father was not at the station but he’d sent two “body-guards”. More like goons to ensure his wife and son were staying in line. But she had been so clever, slipping it in with his school things. It was a bag, more like a simple small knapsack but it held such wonders.

The thing was enchanted to produce a book. A text for any given situation. It was true that he’d used it for school at the time, though that year his mind and worries were on much larger things and the magic of the bag knew so too.

It had given him a number of strange and awful books. Self-help, how to leave a toxic relationship, Acceptance of others and of oneself. Some even written by muggles. For a long time, he had tossed these titles back into the sack, ignoring the curiosity that lit his mind.

But eventually, after Voldermort’s end, even after his Mothers downfall and his fleeing, he began to flip through whatever the bag offered. Soon, he began to read with ferocious appetite, clinging to words written by people who had no idea that his kind existed but had somehow managed to put into words the position he’d been in as a child. The bag would give him more and more, never expanding in size no matter how many books he put back, always able to revisit titles.

Once, not so long ago, he had a fleeting thought of one bushy haired nuisance and how he’d like to rub this little item in her face, but he stopped knowing that he truly didn’t feel that way. It was how he had been conditioned to think, as the Muggle Doctor had written.     

He’d thought of his childhood enemies often since he’d left his life and wondered of their own. Potter, he knew, would remain annoyingly humble, though little peaks of smugness were sure to be seen, he was positive. The red-headed terror would undoubtedly be soaking up the attention.

Granger? She could be doing anything. He knew the world thought her the brightest witch, but no one knew how clever and brave that silly girl was like him. She was his one true competition at Hogwarts and he had hated the respect he felt for her smarts.

A girl like her, muggle parents, not knowing a thing about magic until she was eleven. Then throwing herself into the world, eager to learn and do. Even risking her own life that first year for the sake of knowledge. It was, quite simply, astounding.

And he _hated_ it. He hated that he was supposed to hate her, to resent the circumstances of her birth. That he had to push down the awe he felt when she learned how to do wordless magic, or the thrill he got when they were matched in wits.

And because this very topic always seemed to bring out the worst in him, he decided to call it a night and sit under the stars with a bottle of firewhiskey, trying to ignore the demons that threatened to rise up from his memories.

Little did he know, the very bushy haired demon was tracking a very dangerous, very real nightmare in the shape of a Pooka, not too far from his drunken slumbering body.


	3. Something Known

“Come on you little devil.” Hermione whispered heatedly as she hunkered in the shadows of enormous grey boulders that littered the steep shoreline. The strange and dark creature she’d been chasing was lingering in the tree line, reappearing now after having vanished from her hunt for days.

She need only wait, though. It seemed the mysterious beast never veered far from the sea. It was costal. She’d have to remember to put that in her journal.

Now, however, she feared moving, remaining stone like. It was a skill she had perfected back at Hogwarts and used often during her travels. Still as a statue, she watched the sleek black horse-like animal weave in and out of the thick Norwegian tree line. Her heart pounded and she gripped her wand tighter as the beast unknowingly came closer to her hiding place.

There were very few times Hermione would condone the use of violence against a magical creature, but she was also very aware of the danger this particular one possessed. Its tendency for destruction for the sake of fun was known throughout the wizarding world, though not much else was. It was exactly why she wanted to find it and study its behaviors.

Moments stretched on, her single wild curl, the one damn strand of hair that would never stay in her bun, tickled her nose in the gentle sea breeze. The night was thick, the only light being that of the full moon as it glowed silver on the scene before her. She used all of her will power to not smooth the hair back or rub her nose.

Just when she was willing to risk death to ease the tickling sensation, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Something beside the Pooka was coming quickly towards the scene.

Panic had no place in her heart as her body became battle ready. The wand she had trusted so dutifully was raised and ready and the adrenaline she so loved pumped through her.

And when a second Pooka came crashing across the sands towards the first, Hermione realized what was happening. It was his mate! The newest specimen was a female. Flames of amber and gold flickered down its back, becoming its mane and tale. She grinned like a fool realizing she was the ONLY Witch or Wizard to witness a female of this species. It was a historic find!

One she may not be able to claim, seeing as the creatures had become aware of her position when she’d moved to defend herself.

But instead of attacking, as is historically thought, the pair threw back their shiny black heads and fled into the darkness of the trees.

She cursed under her breath, jumping over a large piece of white driftwood. Hermione could not let this discovery go. Not after searching weeks to find the lone beast, let alone a pair.

Her body was moving before she knew what was happening. The shadows of the night engulfed her as the forest became thicker. Branches slashed at her face, but she still chased the faint flames light as it wove through the underbrush.

Her breathing became ragged and she was positive her thick flannel blouse was torn to shreds. She was about to give up, if only to resume the chase another time, when she heard a man’s scream.

Her body jerked as the sound crashed into her and she forced her booted feet to move faster as they pounded through the thick growth. Far ahead, she could see a clearing. In fact, as she got closer, it became clear that this was a farm stead, hidden among the hills and trees. The wooden fence that lined the property had a four foot opening, shattered pieces of the logs littered the ground.

Her mind was reeling. There, before her, a tall man was slowly stepping around the frightened Pookas. His hands were raised, and while it was still too dark for Hermione to see his face, the moonlight allowed her to witness his smooth movements.

He was trying to calm them, she realized, shocked.

Too bad she wouldn’t discover if it would have worked. The noise she made after skidding to stop alerted the trio of her presence and the beasts were not pleased. Quicker than any animal she’d seen so far, the male raised itself on his hind legs and lashed out at the man. He dodged but was not fast enough. A razored hoof slashed down his thigh.

Hermione was ready with a stunning spell, still not willing to harm the beasts. But she too, managed to be too slow. The creatures were thundering towards her and she had only a moment to think.

“Lumos!” She screamed, closing her eyes against the brightness that came from her wand. She heard the whines of the creatures and after a moment, their retreating hoof beats echoing through the clearing.

Tentatively, she opened her eyes. The light was dulling quickly but with it she was able to locate the man. His body was slumped, muttered curses drifted towards her in the now still air.

She reached him in moments, skidding to the ground with a huff. She didn’t care that he may be a muggle. It was her fault he was hurt and she’d do her best to help him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She repeated over and over again, not quite able to look him in the eyes, instead keeping her gaze concentrated in his thigh. Deep red blood was beginning to stain the heavy denim fabric. She leaned in, aware that the man had become so silent.

Hermione’s hands were shaking slightly, but she had to see the wound. If it were excessively bad, she’d have to floo him to St. Mungos but if she could heal it here, she would much prefer to.

“Ok, ok…” She held her breath and lifted the torn fabric. A large gash that started at his hip ran inwards, nearly 5 inches long, down his thigh. It looked grisly, some muscle tissue showing, but she sighed in relief. This she could handle. She had to do it once or twice on herself in the last few years.

“Sir, I’m going to fix this, Ok?” she whispered, finally able to lift her eyes. A pair of intense silver eyes stared back and something began to tickle the back of her brain. The moon was hiding behind the clouds now and her wand had finally gone dark. But his eyes were almost luminescent…

“Um, I can’t fix this here. It’s too dark.” She stuttered, something about this situation had her feeling off. Maybe it was because he was so silent. Or more likely that his eyes were burning holes into her head. Her hands were still on him, one clutching the edge of the torn jean, the other holding his arm to support him. She would have pulled away if she didn’t think he needed the support.

“Bloody Hell.” He finally grunted. Her stomach knotted and she didn’t know why. What in Merlins name was happening! He tried to stand, but was much too weak. The blood was seeping out faster than she thought. With the help of some carefully placed enchantments, she was able to lift him off the ground, and put an arm over her own slender shoulders. Her heart was pounding now. It was so similar to how it beat whenever she faced down a dangerous creature. A wounded, cornered, beast.

Her mind was so distracted, she nearly tripped, jarring the man’s limp form. He cursed through gritted teeth making her flinch. He feebly pointed to the smaller of two cabin like shacks and thankfully it was no more than two dozen feet away. But the moving was slow. She didn’t want to hurt him any further.

She kicked open the thin wooden door with one foot, taking out her wand and lighting the fireplace from across the room. Hermione wasn’t a weak person, but this man was tall and while he looked on the thin side, he was packed tightly with dense muscles from labor. Her legs were nearly shaking from holding up his whole weight but still she managed to help him into the nearest chair, a large reclining one she thought was a tad out of place.

But now, with the warm glow of the fire lighting the room, she was able to actually see the face of the man she had hurt.

And she knew him.

“Draco!” She gasped, her wand instantly raised and ready.

The man however, didn’t even flinch. His eyes became sullen and he turned his ashen face away from hers. Her name slipped from his lips, a sound that more resembled acceptance than the curse she’d expected.

And then he lost consciousness.


	4. Burn

He was swimming in fire. Everything burned, his flesh sizzling off bone. All the pain radiating from somewhere on his thigh, though he couldn’t concentrate enough to pinpoint it. He would have screamed if possible, but the only thing he could do was grit his teeth and deal with it.

He deserved it. Draco thought hazily, that perhaps this is what the muggles called hell. That fiery place in which the sinners go. Those who were evil in their lives like him and his family.

It was so strange then, when he had finally accepted this punishment, that he felt something cold. Not pleasant but not painful either. In a way it became worse than the fire, his legs shaking with the intense difference.

And he was waking then. The fever induced sleep was coming off in layers, peeling away from the painful nightmare. But the fire stayed, battling with the new and terrible cold.

His eyes opened, glazed and hazy, searching for the source of his discomfort. Blurry shadows were dancing in front of him but one he knew. One specific shadow, with its wild hair and clean scent.

“Hermione.” He coughed, his throat having become so dry it felt like he’d swallowed ash.

“You’re awake!” She whispered, her face coming close. He could now see the shape of it, not quite the details. He wanted to reach out to touch her, if only to know he wasn’t actually dead but the light was fading now and he knew he was going to pass out.

It must have been hours before he awoke again because there was not the natural light that normally came from the sun. Instead there was bright light that flickered behind his closed lids. His limbs were heavy and numb and the pounding in his head was so intense but the heat and cold were mostly gone.

Draco stayed very still as he sensed his surroundings. He listened intently and even smelled for strange scents. Soap, muggle coffee, and something like metal. Something he remembered with a sickening stomach.

“Don’t try to move, please. You’ll ruin the sealant spell I placed.” Hermione spoke, close to where he lie. He must not have been as still as he thought.

He tried to speak but ended up coughing, though he did manage to keep his lower half still. Before he knew what was happening, his head was being lifted by a small but strong hand and he felt the sweet coolness of liquid touch his lips. He hesitated, an instinct that had been taught the hard way.

“Oh, come on Malfoy. I’m not going to poison you after saving you.” She scoffed. He knew she wasn’t going to kill him. But that didn’t mean he trusted her.

Still, he had few options, what with being unmovable and all. So he opened his lips and let the fluid in, pleased that it calmed the burning ache in his throat. He felt it pool in his stomach and soon his body began to feel less achy. A healing potion. He should have known.

“Thank you.” He managed, blinking away the sleepy fogginess. He didn’t like not seeing, not moving, and especially not knowing. He had absolutely no idea why she was here, let alone helping him of all people.

The room became silent and he watched her figure drift over to the fire to throw another log on. Her body was illuminated by the orange glow as it cast long shadows across his single roomed cabin. Draco had spent many years watching this girl for many different reasons but never quite like this.

She turned to him then, a look of pain crossing her face. He was immediately on guard, flashes of her face from that horrible day back in Malfoy Manor making his stomach knot painfully.

“I am so sorry.” She began, one small hand was rubbing her other arm. It was a subconscious move, one he knew meant she was uncomfortable. That would make two of them. “It was my fault the Pooka sliced you. I was chasing it because I need information and… And I’m sorry.” Here, she looked back into he flames.

Draco was distracted by the way she was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes. It took a moment for his brain to catch up but when it did, he felt the earth tilt a bit. He shimmied up on his elbows and looked at the damage. What he couldn’t anticipate was the blackened skin and the long red gash that still bled, if only a little.

She was standing next to him suddenly, her hands gingerly folding back the cloth that covered his torso. Long dark grey lines spread like tree roots from the wound, creeping up his stomach and down his right leg. He looked up to her, shocked to find genuine fear and worry dancing through her eyes.

“I had no idea that this would happen.” She said softly, her voice tense. Draco’s first instinct was to be angry. He wanted to blame her and shout and to be cruel. Be in the same breath, he knew that it really wasn’t what _he_ wanted.

No. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing and listened to the crackle of the fire. He felt the need to thank her for all she’d done and ask her to leave so he could just die alone like he deserved.

But before he could say a thing, he realized she was still talking in that almost too fast way she had about her.

“The old man, he barely spoke English, but he helped me a bit. You were fevered for days. I tried to use my floo powder to take you to St. Mungos but it didn’t work.” She explained, waving her hands this way and that. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. He hadn’t set the floo charm. He never expected to use it, nor anyone else. Still he remained silent, not sure what to say. It had been so long since he had to speak with anyone, let alone someone from his past.

“Malfoy, I… I don’t know how to stop this.” She finally whispered, flouncing down on the stool next to his cot. He realized now, he’d been moved from the large chair. And that all of his clothes were missing.

Fighting the urge to cover himself, Draco instead inspected the wound with careful eyes. It looked awful but he barely felt anything. Most likely the potion she’d fed him. Another thing to be thankful for.

When the silence became unbearable and thick, he finally looked towards his school yard enemy. Her hair was thick and as chaotic as ever, though she managed it into a bun of some sort. But there were bags under her eyes and now that his own vison was clear, he could see the lines of worry tracing her face. And with it, the question he’d been avoiding all night.

“Why would you help me?”


	5. Awake

The question made her stomach turn to stone. Hermione wanted nothing more than to heal his wound and leave a fast as a girl can run, but if what the Sheep herder said was true, she had a long road ahead. With him.

Draco might have been the world’s biggest twat, spoiled to his core with a nasty habit of finding himself in bad situations, but she was a good person who didn’t want to see anyone seriously hurt.

So she decided to use that as her reasoning and opened her mouth to tell him that very thought, but her guilt stopped her short. Throwing her hands up to cover her face against his intense stare, Hermione sighed heavily.

“I’m helping you because this is all my fault and if I can’t fix it you will die. I may not like you, but I don’t want you dead.” She grumbled heavily, hating the way her body tensed for battle. She waited for a snappy remark or a cruel comment. She sat, squeezing her eyes closed, afraid to see the scorn and disdain that was always present on the blonds face.

But the room was too quiet and she thought for a moment he had fallen back to sleep. She peaked out between webbed fingers to see him still staring, but with none of the cruelty she expected.

“You can go.” He stated simply, in a matter of fact way. Silver eyes seemed to focus on her with striking intensity. It made this whole situation worse. He was too still, too quiet. So unlike the lively brat she’d hated so much in her childhood.

“No, actually I can’t. My morals won’t let me.” She snapped, wanting to add ‘But you wouldn’t know anything about that.’ But stopped herself. No need to be petty just to get a rise out of him. She sighed again and started to pace. What happened! One moment she was alone and happy in the wild, chasing a mysterious creature, and the next she’s sitting bedside to a wounded ex-Death Eater.

Damn.

The worse part was Hermione’s own fear. The Shepherd had found her trying to calm to intense fever that was wreaking havoc on Draco’s lifeless body. He seemed to know exactly what had happened and what creature did it. She could barely understand his thick accent and was pretty sure he drifted in-between languages but the point had been too clear.

Malfoy was going to die. Slowly. Painfully. And it was because of her and her stupid desire to chase the damned Pooka.

It was midnight now, on the third night. Her food pack had run low and she was starting to get sticky from the sweat that drenched her own body while working the difficult spells that slowed the bleeding.

Being reminded of this, she paced warily back to the small cot where the young man lay. He watched her, face a blank slate but she knew he was deceptively calm. After all, he was still Draco. She was trying to think of something to distract her mind, to pull her thoughts away from her guilt when a question popped up.

“Why are you in the middle of no-where? In a tiny shack, no less?” She asked, keeping her gaze on the large gash. She used her wand to clean the area once more and lay a few more sealing spells.

There was a long moment of silence in which she thought he might not answer but finally he cleared his throat. She felt his eyes on her but she just couldn’t look at him.

“I left home after my Mother fell into a depression. I ran, like a fool.” He stated, his voice sounding much too flat for her comfort. But it was his words that put her on edge.

“A fool?” She whispered, afraid that he was going mad. It’s one of the stages of the Pooka’s poison.

“Yes, Granger. A fool. A boy who thought he could out-run his guilt by leaving home and hearth and disappearing into the country.” He growled and Hermione was strangely glad to see some sort of emotion from him, though it wasn’t one she ever thought him capable.

She kept her gaze studiously down, noticing how the blood still pooled around the edges of the open flesh. No spell she knew could bring the torn sides together.

“And I still managed to die by the hands of one of the three.” He sighed, voice sounding deflated and tired. She looked up, angry at his words, but more so that he may be right.

“Now that’s not fair! I was just chasing those things from a safe distance. I had no idea they would happen upon you.” She hissed, walking quickly to the far wall and opening a window. It was much too warm in here for her.

“And it was the middle of the night! What were you even doing in the middle of a field?” She continued, hoping to find a release from her disgustingly heavy conscious. “You were the one who didn’t run! You stood with your hands up.”

By then she had quieted some, realizing attacking him was not going to help her. Nor him.

His face was still blank, hands folded in front of him in an annoyingly proper way. For a man sitting half naked, covered in blood and sweat, looking like he’d been dragged through hell, Draco sure had a way of remaining dignified.

“Are you done?” He asked simply, though she would have bet money that she saw a little spark dance behind his smoky eyes.

Hermione pushed the stupid stray curl behind her ear and nodded shortly. Her mind was still reeling from the events leading up to this conversation and she couldn’t quiet grasp it all.

“Since you are so determined to save my life, and trust me here, I have no idea why but since you are, I think I have something that can help.” Malfoy said, his voice cracking. She refilled his water and handed it to him, watching as he gulped the whole thing. She’d have to keep an eye out. It seemed he didn’t like asking for help.

“If you have a cure, then tell me so I can fix you and high-tail it so we can both go back to our lives. I’ll even pretend to never have run into to you.” She said hopefully. The little bit of humor she added brought that spark back to his eyes and she was happy to see his reaction. His strange deflated attitude was so unlike him, it made her uncomfortable.

He rolled his silver eyes and pointed to the old antiquated chest that sat next to the lounge chair. Its lid was heavy and creaked loudly but inside were no treasures. Just a few old cloth packs and leather bound Hogwarts school books. She looked to him questioningly.

“The green and silver bag. Grab it.”

She did so cautiously not knowing what sort of dark magic could be attached to the thing. She carefully brought it to him, noticing how his eyes were becoming dull and tired. He’d been awake much longer than she’d have thought.

“There’s a book inside with the answers.” He yawned, laying back down heavily. His eyes were closing and she nearly yelled at him.

Reach into a seemingly empty bag? After his record of having dark objects? Yeah right!

But he said there was a book… One that might help him.

Therefore helping her.

Hermione sat over the strange sleeping man for many moments, clutching the strange sack to her chest. She didn’t have many options here. Either she trusted the untrustable boy or she wait until he was dead.

Damn.


	6. Inside

Hermione had, for all intents and purposes, tried so hard to simply not care about the younger Malfoys fate. She had taken the mental steps to remove herself from his body and leave the hut, not looking back. She tried to convince herself he deserved whatever horrors were to happen.

But he didn’t and she knew that. So she sat on the stool with shaking hands and a heart that threatened to burst from her chest. He had said inside the strange bag was something that could help but the thing felt empty.

She looked over to the sleeping man. His hair had turned back to the pale blond she remembered. It had started to fade from the strange brown when she laid the healing spells and had come out completely after she used Scourgify to clean the blood from his body.

His sleeping face was much like that of his when awake, which was nothing like the sneer she remembered. Maybe that was where her nervous behavior stemmed from.

She analyzed her thoughts while Malfoys breathing lulled her, it was a touch shallow but none the less soothing in its steady pattern. She let her mind go over the events in an attempt to discover her true unease.

Hermione had been completely unprepared to find another human, let alone a wizard, in the barren lands of the southern hills of Norway. And then the injured had to be a face from her past. One she had tried so hard to forget.

But still it wasn’t that that made her itchy to leave. Not quite. Her eyes traveled across the abode in which Draco had ensconced himself in. It was simple and Spartan. There was nothing personal; no photos, not even a comfortable blanket. The only thing that was out of place was the comfortable lounge chair in front of the hearth. The single room was clean but lived in. Not nearly like the land fill that was Ron’s room. She shuddered, moving her mind away from those stressful thoughts.

Why had he chosen to live here? And did she really believe him? That he thought himself a fool? Maybe. He had seemed so serious. The ferrety face in which she had remembered so vividly had now looked… Strange. There was a painful dark resignation that tainted his pale complexion.

That was it. That was what was bugging her, she realized as, looking back to the sleeping figure.

He might be dying on the outside, but he looked like he had been dying on the inside long before she showed up.

Hermione wanted to scoff. She truly wished it was her whimsical mind, making up fantastic stories to make herself feel better, but she was a believer in truths and facts. The facts were he was dying now, after running from his past and guilt. She was the cause of the first issue, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help him with the second.

Wait… No, she was only going to rid him of the Pooka poison and leave as fast as her feet could carry here. Right? It’s not like she owed him anything.

Not really, anyways.

She sighed heavily and looked down at the strange bag. It could be a dark object. Cursed to kill her or some other such horrible thing.

But never let it be said that she lets fear win. Ever.

Hermione closed her eyes and shove her hand into the dark confines of the smooth fabric. Her body jerked in surprise when her fingers came into contact with the soft expanse of an old leather bound tome. She smiled brightly, keeping her eyes closed, letting her fingers run along the intricate designs that were carved into the cover.

When she did manage to remove the book from the bag, she let her gaze fall onto it. It was very old, but very well kept. Its warm brown cover was painted with gold lettering in what she thought looked like ruins of some sort.

How he expected her to be able to read ancient unknown symbols, was beyond her but as soon as she opened it, she realized that there was more magic going on here than she knew.

The symbols on the ancient pages started to dance, jumping over each other and arranging themselves into perfect English sentences. A chill raced down her spine when she read the dates.

This book was from the fifthbloody century! She nearly dropped it for fear of damaging it with the oils from her skin but realized once again, this was a magical volume. She shouldn’t worry about such mundane muggle things.

But still, a spellbook this old was a beautiful discovery, as it could hold countless ancient wonders. 

“Not really a _find_ though, is it?” she asked herself, glancing back to Malfoy who was becoming restless. His right hand was twitching and there was sweat beginning to form on his brow.

A stark tension sized her heart as she watched the man's face contort in pain. The thin sheets that lay across his bare torso were stained with red blotches, blood that she had inadvertently caused.

She would fix him, even if were the last thing she did.

Late into the night, she read. Hands ached and eyes became dry but there was so much knowledge inside the thick book. CHapters on spells unlike anything she'd seen. Curses and charms. Wards and enchantments. So much ancient knowledge tucked in between beautiful leather covers. 

The fire light became dull as the sun peaked through the morning dew covered trees, leaving a fresh mist to cover the land outside the small window. Such a sight would make any witch or wizard sigh with peace.

But she hadn't seen it. 

This was because of the quickly scribbled notes and pages that lay before her, scattered about the small kitchen table. Her coffee mug sat full but cold, having been forgotten.

She read the list several dozen times and wrote furiously across the notes. These things held the key to the cure. Or more truthfully, the ingredients. And while it would likely take her weeks to procure these hard to find pieces, she had also discovered, written among the ancient pages, a quick and temporary fix.

Nothing permanent, but one that was said to temporarily halt the progression of the poison, allowing the victim to gather the ingredients for the final cure.

She had everything she needed here for _that_ potion and set about it immediately. A simple spell whispered over a small cauldron in which brewed ash from a fresh fire, morning dew, cedar oil, and a smudge of Echinacea. It would need to be ingested with a strong drink.

Firewhiskey. She always kept a bottle on hand for the colder, more lonely nights. 

It took a short time to get everything set up and cooking. While the small hut filled with the calming scents of the potion, she drifted off to sleep in the large chair, hands curled around the thick leather book.

 

 


	7. A good burn

Draco had been awake for no more than ten minutes when Hermione decided to gain consciousness. Pity that. She looked rather charming curled up tight, book to breast, and hair a chaotic halo about her head. He had only those few moments to observe her in such a still state. It seemed that since they were children, she had always been in motion. A riot of action and intelligence.

Even when others called her strange for spending too much time sitting still reading, he had seen what they hadn’t. Her leg, just the right one, would bounce when she was deep in a scroll. Both when she wrote something that required an intense amount of concentration. She was always moving her hands, whether it was flying across the page with a quill, or her fingers twitching through pages of a good book he knew she was never quite _still._

Of course, he would never tell anyone this. They’d wonder why he had been studying _her_ for hours in the library when he should have been doing homework or wreaking havoc on the first years. Even he hadn’t known why.

Now, in the warm glow of the early autumn sun that beamed through his thick paned window, Hermione still vibrated with life. Her eyes popped open quickly and he nearly smiled at the swiftness of her assessing gaze.

“Good Morning.” He rasped, watching as her eyes widened with surprise.

“You’re awake!” She cried huskily, standing with the book still nestled in her arms. He half expected (or was it wished) she would walk to him, but instead she made a quick path to his work bench. Overnight, it seemed, she had created a workable potions lab. A small kettle burned over a strange metal appliance.

Something musky and earthy wafted towards him, making the pain in his abdomen ache as he inhaled deeply. He had been particularly good at potions back in school, but he couldn’t quite place this scent. There was ash, for sure. Maybe dragons tears? No, that’s not right…

His eyes were closed as he concentrated on his senses, letting his mind go quiet. It was simple to do these days, letting go of all of the outside “noise”, as the book doctors say.

“Stay awake, Malfoy.” She called softly and he was surprised by her tone. Despite the dryness of his eyes, he peeled them open and was given the glorious view of Hermione removing the large and unattractive grey wool sweater she’d donned sometime in the night. A beauty in every way.

But as he looked closer, what he saw made his stomach tight.

Criss-crossing and pin straight lines, varying degrees of depth, marked the entirety of her right arm. While the left looked like it was marred with a strange burn starting at the fingers, and ending at her wrist. It wasn’t awful looking, and he only noticed them because he’d been looking but the sight still made him… upset.

Which surprised him deeply since he thought he’d lost all ability to feel anything other than guilt.

Sensing his gaze, Hermione had stopped her activity and was watching him intensly. His gaze found to hers, hoping she’d explain without him having to ask. Those warm brown eyes of hers seemed hesitant but he kept his face open and calm.

Finally she sighed, coming to sit before him with two full metal cups. Both she placed on the small makeshift nightstand. One of the cups was definitely Firewhisky. He’d know that smell anywhere. But still he kept his gaze on her. She looked down to her arms, running her fingers along the pale white lines.

“My first month on my own, I went to find my parents. I had removed their memory because…” She paused, face turning a shade of pink, in anger or embarrassment, he didn’t know. “… Because of everything. I had sent them to Australia our sixth year. When I got there, though, I ran into a few kinks.” When her eyes looked far away, he began to fear she wouldn’t continue.

“What happened?” He urged gently, his voice coming out raspy. She came back to the moment, eyebrows scrunched as if she were confused by his question. He would be too.

“I couldn’t get them to remember, no matter what spell I used. They were… afraid of me. I understood it though. It’s not easy finding out a whole other world of magic and wars exists.” She paused again, looking now at him with intensity. Here he knew, he couldn’t empathize. He always knew his kind existed. But rather than lecturing him, she continued. “I found a Shaman, their type of Wizard, who knew magic. He gave me an ancient spell to get them to remember. But he said it would hurt.”

Her gaze dropped again to her wand arm, opening her palm to reveal a set of deep white scars running parallel down her palm and further up her forearm.

“It did.” She sighed heavily though smiled gently too. The memory of the pain did not diminish the happiness that shone in her eyes.

“But it worked. They remembered everything. And they were _pissed_!” Hermione laughed, a sound he wasn’t sure he’d heard before. It was light despite the conversation and he couldn’t stop the small twitch to his lips in response. He was sure she had noticed but was thankful she didn’t point it out.

“I was a bloody mess. Literally. They had no idea what to do but the shaman was there and he healed me. The scars are permanent but I find I don’t mind them so much.” She grinned, looking past him into some unknown scene. He wondered what it must be like to have family you love so much that you’d smile after such a brutal experience.

“Anyways, the other scars are a story for another day.” She muttered, fixing her gaze on him. It was the kind that reminded him eerily of McGonagall before she made him answer a question aloud.

“I’m not sure how this’ll taste but you have to drink it all.” Though her voice held none of the lightness it had moments earlier, she tried to smile reassuringly. He missed it, then. But perhaps he missed any sort of happiness, not necessarily that of his childhood enemy.

“A cure?” Draco croaked roughly, throat burning with acid. The pain was coming back in waves, the center of which was the large black gash on his thigh.

“Not quite.” Hermione whispered, her shoulders dropping slightly. He wanted to laugh at the forlorn look on her face. How could she feel sad that he’d die? He’d be dancing if he were in her shoes.

“But it’ll do until we can get all of the other ingredients.” She said with more commitment, the spark snapped back to life in her bright eyes.

The burn was becoming stronger making his mind hazy. Other ingredients...? 

“Drink, drink!” The woman urged, noticing how the light in his eyes were fading. The urge to sleep before the worst of the waves came was nearly overwhelming.

But she had made him this potion and had told him a story that made him want to smile. He owed her that much.

Through the haze and disorientation, Draco gripped the first metal cup in shaking hands and in one large gulp had it down.

The pleasant earthy smell hid a terribly horrendous taste. Stewed socks and rotten eggs, and everything terrible coated his tongue like a thick ooze. Firewhisky quickly replaced the cup, taking long swigs of the spicy drink before he could empty his stomach.

He kept his eyes closed as the warmth worked its way pleasantly through his body. It was unlike the burn of the poison. This was comfort embodied in silk, running softly through his limps, caressing his wound with tender gentleness. A warm and comfortable blanket. He sighed deeply, finally able to relax his body.

And while he was overjoyed at the thought of finally sleeping without the searing pain, he also felt a thrum of energy race up and down his spine. His mind, as well, was affected and he had a moment to actually think about her words.

“Find the other what?” Draco said, voice stronger than it had been for days, surprising even him. He kept his eyes closed, afraid he’d heard her correctly.

“Well, Malfoy. It’s looks like we are going on an adventure.” Hermione Granger, woman of chaos, wild child of the trio chuckled bashfully.

He groaned.

 


	8. Bright eyes

“An adventure.” He repeated, the flat tone and only slightly bothered eyes made her worry the Firewhisky might have been too strong.

“Sort of.” She hedged, the reality of the situation settling in like a ten ton weight now that the excitement of the previous night was gone with the sun. “We need some ingredients for the true cure. They are obscure but not impossible.”

Her hands were flying through the room, packing all of her belongings into her charmed bag. The Bunsen burner and her potions kit, along with her bottle of the wizard liquor. Sure, she could have used her magic but the silence in the room was making her restless and jumpy. Had Draco always been so calm? Was it the poison that was bogging down his mind? Surely he would be freaking out.

“Cant.” He finally said as if it was the easiest thing. She spun to face him, mouth open with pure surprise. He was sitting up fully and had managed to swing his legs over the side of the cot. His chest was bare and looked much too fit for the little prat he used to be. She blinked several times as she watched him stand, one hand keeping the sheet wrapped around his waist.

Hermione had forgotten how tall he had become but the man before her didn’t use his height to intimidate her or to tower. His head was held high but those broad shoulders dropped slightly under the invisible weight he carried.

With her staring in utter disbelief at his words (and perhaps his body but no no no…) he walked with only a slight limp to the far counter and poured himself a cup of water.

“Excuse me?” She managed, her voice coming out a little too frazzled for her liking so she hurried forward. “I didn’t bust my bottom to cool you down during that fever and to create a three day potion OVER NIGHT and to have nearly pulled my hair out with worry just for you to say you can’t!” The level of her anger rose throughout the rant but splintered off when he turned to her, a sad confusion drawing lines down his face.

“Granger, I’m the last person you should worry about.” He mumbled, lowering his eyes. “My clothes?” he asked before she could form a retort.

Hermione had a moment of disappointment but corrected that thought before she could even finish it. After a few calming breaths, that is.

“The old man undressed you. I think he packed them over there.” She said slowly, pointing to the trunk at the foot of his small bed. She blushed furiously, not telling him she had watched the old farmer undress him. Of course, she was looking for wounds but had seen… well… everything.

By the pink that was staining his ears, she figured he deduced as much. He was second in their year, after all so not too dumb. Not for the first time in her life she wondered if she could die of embarrassment.

“What do you mean by ‘ _can’t_ ’?”

He sighed heavily, taking measured steps, staying as far away from her as possible to reach the trunk. He remained silent, much to her annoyance as his hunched form fished out several articles of clothing.

Hermione rubbed her eyes in the vain hope to rid herself of the oncoming headache. The kept them closed, the moment of darkness was enough to clear her thoughts.

“You can leave the list here and I’ll get them on my own.” He offered. She almost jumped at the chance but she knew he couldn’t do it by himself. It wasn’t as simple as gathering some herbs. Not that she’d have left, it had been. No, she needed to see this through.

Plus, he presented a tempting mystery. Why and how did the crown prince of prat become the man of guilt before her? And to that point, who had he become?

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” She whispered. When she lifted her eyes, she saw before her a strange yet fantastic sight. Draco Malfoy wore a pair of dark muggle jeans and a thick cotton button up. His hair was longer than it was in youth, but not as tamed as his fathers. He tied it up with a leather throng and when he finished, leaning a hip on the counter and crossing his arms, she realized then she’d been silently staring.

“Granger,” he started but she held up her hand. His attempt at reason wasn’t going to work. She was invested now and had to see him healed and well before she left his side. It was her fault and she had morals after all.

“Look, I think I know how you feel.” She tried from another angle. He scoffed, the first time he’d sounded like his old self these last few days and it made her smile despite herself. “Ok, sort of. I don’t want to be seen either, you know. I’d like to never see a journalist or camera ever again.”

She had jumped up on the counter and was swinging her feet, watching as he stayed so still as a statue. His silver gaze never left her and while she wanted to look away from such an intense look, she didn’t.

“And I can’t just go. I think you know how stubborn I can be so you might as well save your energy and pack up because you _are_ coming with me.”

The silence was heavy for many minutes and she wondered if he would snap any moment but he surprised her once more. Malfoy turned and started to silently pack using wand and hands efficiently. Hermione watched him with a strange and subtle curiosity. One she hadn’t felt in such long time.

Light filtered through the window and it warmed her back. She raised her arms and lifted her heavy hair to tie it up. The temperature had risen as the noonday sun glared down with not a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day to start whatever insane journey they were about to embark on.

“Do the others know you are here in the wild?” She heard him ask quietly. He had finished packing by then and stood by the door, a worn muggle jacket and tattered leather bag slung across his chest made her blink again. How could this be the same person? But his words drew her back.

“No. Not really.” She stuttered, not sure why she was feeling so uncomfortable. “They know I’m chasing a Pooka in Norway. That’s… about it.” She rubbed her hands together, feeling anxious then. Perhaps she’d been remiss in letting the guys know she was ok. But she didn’t have an owl and no floo network. They knew she was ok, though...

He nodded but remained silent. She was beginning to see a pattern here, what with the quiet stillness. She hopped off the counter and tossed on her grey worn sweater. It was light but was enchanted to feel like a thick cloak, allowing her to move with ease. After another look around the small shack, taking in all that had transpired in the last few days, Hermione took a deep breath and turned to her new companion.

“Right.” She grunted, lifting her own heavy backpack on. She couldn’t stop the small smile that lit her face as the excitement of another adventure fluttered inside of her heart. “First stop, Faroe Islands.”


	9. A Road

His blood, which had hours earlier felt thick like tar, now seemed to vibrate with renewed life as it coursed through his veins. The sun greeted him as it had of late, with a calming warmth that changed the sickly paleness of his complexion to one with warmer hues of gold. He may never be considered tan, but this was a far cry from the deathly skin tone he had held as a boy.

Draco closed his eyes against the brightness, letting the heat seep in, musing that its glow sometimes reached his heart. How had he survived his childhood without this pleasure, was beyond him. If it hadn’t been for those days where he could so joyously practice Quidditch outside with his father’s thin approval, he’d have lost his mind completely.

His companion was silent but he felt her eyes on him. He wanted to be upset at her invasion but couldn’t find it in him. She was saving his worthless life, after all.

What a strange turn of events. Even stranger was his acceptance of her demands that they travel together in search of the cure. Draco had been positive he had wanted her to go, leaving him to die but when she had snapped, anger making her skin flush pink, he found he wouldn’t deny her anything.

Hermione Granger was a wicked witch with a brilliant mind. She wouldn’t be swayed and he very well knew it. She would have bound him and dragged him along if he’d said no.

But that wasn’t why he was walking beside her, afternoon sun shining through sparse clouds. He had found, deep down, far beneath the casual indifference there was a will to live.

So he packed his things and followed her hoping desperately that this wasn’t one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever make.

They were within a mile of an old fishing village off the western coat. If memory served, there was a wizard’s pub that had a floo connection. He hated using the floo, mainly because there was a higher chance of being recognized but he also knew Hermione hated flying. He’d much rather be the one feeling uncomfortable, not her.

Draco ran a hand through his hair keenly aware of how unruly it had become. Being self-conscious was nothing new to him, though it had mattered little these last few years. Being attractive was second to last on his list of worries. So why did the fact that he felt dirty and unkempt begin to bother him?

Maybe it was the fiery witch who was still staring out of the corner of her eye. Her constant observation was unnerving.

“Granger.” He stated flatly hoping that she’d realize her impolite behavior and cease it. Instead, the woman smiled and turned her face toward him. He wanted to keep staring forward but caved, turning his head slightly towards her.

“I’m just thinking about how different you look.” She commented, surely able to see the surprise that fluttered across his face. The strangest part that he wanted to know what she thought. Was he more bent and haggard? Did she find the dark circles under his eyes befitting his lowly status now?

“You look…” She paused, her filter seeming to have disappeared as she contemplated the right words. He braced himself knowing she was going to be painfully accurate. “… Better.”

He stumbled over his feet, her hands stopping him from falling face first onto the graveled path. His surprised choking was only barely covered up by her deep laughter. He’d have been pissed had it not been for the look on her face.

“Better than yesterday?” He grunted darkly as he brushed the non-existent dirt from his pants. Their feet back to the steady pace along the steep hillside. Draco couldn’t bring himself to look at her now. Hermione went back to using her peripherals.

“Well yea, but I was thinking about when we were at school. Those last few years… You didn’t look well at all.” She said as if it were a matter of fact. It was, too. He’d been sick with dread, with worry, and with the weight of responsibility that he didn’t want.

He didn’t say any of this. Instead, he remained silent, letting it fill the air between them. He was being rude, he knew that, but telling her about those years was the last thing he wanted to do. It was too painful by half.

The village was just coming into view, the tops of old and salt worn slated rooftops peaked behind the edge of the hill. He knew it would be a few more minutes before they would arrive and he hoped the conversation wouldn’t continue but as with all things about Granger, it wasn’t so simple.

“The work has done you good.” She commented casually, but the fingers fiddling with the hem of her sweater gave it away. She was embarrassed? Or maybe concerned he’d be upset…

“How so?” He mumbled deeply, hoping to rid her of her uncomfortableness. Damn, why was he so concerned about _that_?

“Oh, just… You’ve um, you’ve gotten stronger. Obviously. Outdoor work does that. And you’re not _nearly_ as pale and ferrety.” She chuckled awkwardly. He couldn’t help the pleasure that bloomed in his stomach at her words.

And he laughed. Merlin’s beard, he laughed for the first time in years, the deep sound shocking them both into stillness. The laugh ended in a chuckle and then tapered off. He rubbed a hand over his face to cover the remains of his smile, strangely feeling lighter.

Draco looked to Hermione, her brown eyes wide and full mouth opened slightly in shock. He looked to her full lips and felt a quick pull in his gut. And because he had no idea what that sensation meant, he ignored it and shook his head.

“I’m sure the muggle clothes help too.” He said as he started walking once more. Hermione followed but this time her body was much closer to his, keeping pace.

“I have to say, for a boy who hated all things Muggle, you sure-,” She started but he cut her off, stopping to stand before her. Something on his face must have warned her for she stopped dead and lifted her face up to his for an explanation.

“First off, I never hated Muggles. I _thought_ they were beneath me, but I never once _hated_ them. That was my father.” He growled, seeing her eyes flare with some strange heat. “Secondly, I was a stupid boy raised by a racist parent. I’m not that boy anymore.”

He tried to keep his breathing even and not use his height to scare her. He should have remembered though, that this was Hermione Granger. The girl who had faced death more than many could claim. Of course he couldn’t scare her, even if he had tried.

“Obviously.” She grinned, rolling her eyes and brushing past him.

He followed her silently, keeping his eyes trained on the red tile roofs that connected to alabaster stone walls. The town was so close that he didn’t need to speak even if he wanted too.

After a few more minutes of her leading, it became clear to him that she didn’t know where the pub was. He wondered briefly how she came to this corner of Europe but still didn’t feel the need to talk anymore then he had.

He tugged on her sweater and led her along a flat stoned pathway leading between two of the nearest buildings. There were a few muggles about but none wasted their time examining them.

He nodded to the baker as they turned another corner. The ancient man with greying hair smiled a toothless grin back and commented in his native tongue. Draco had no idea what words were said, but he could tell the subject by the older man’s waggling brows.

He smiled softly and winked, hoping Hermione hadn’t noticed the exchange. But of course she had. Did she scoff? Push him away?

Of course not. She bloody threw an arm around him and giggled as he stiffened. The utter shock on his face gave him away and the backer knew it. His barking laughter followed them as he hurried her down the alley. Draco glowered at the brat, a sharp comment on the tip of his tongue but it was washed away quickly.

Her grin was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected by it. Rolling his eyes, a habit he was learning was going to be a common thing between the two of them, and marched forward to a small wood paneled door. He wondered briefly why Wizards chose the most antiquated hideaways, but chose not to question it too much seeing as he was one of them. He liked rustic living quarters but despised the refusal of modern advancement in the Wizarding society.

Draco held the door for his irksome companion and followed her inside. The dimly lit room smelled of salt, fish, and sulfur, the last of which was most likely from the floo. The barkeep glanced up and upon seeing Hermione started stuttering like a fool.

She cringed at the attention, shrinking back slightly, surprising him. His arm came up instinctively and rested around her shoulder. Draco felt a twist in his gut at the contact, knowing he had no right, but he hated that there were several other men in the pub whose eyes were now trained on her, even as her body language screamed her discomfort. It wasn’t every day that a Wizard got to see one of the Golden Trio but he still detested their rudeness.

“Floo?” He called, his voice deeper and sterner than usual. The barkeep managed to tear his borderline leering gaze from her to pierce him with an all too familiar gaze. His blond hair gave him away. If seeing one of the Three was rare spotting the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most known offenders, was like seeing Bigfoot.

No one would hopefully believe them.

The giant fireplace in the corner of the room was a solid stone square, built long before the room it sat in. He knew instinctively that was where to go and guided her there with his hand on her lower back. He meant it to be a simple guiding touch but he felt his heart lurch for a moment when another wizard stood, blocking their path.

He felt possessive in a strange and horrible way. He had no right…

Hermione raised her chin and in true Gryffindor fashion told the man to move out of their way, in not too many words. She was stern and sharp as a whip. He might have hated that as a boy, but he couldn’t help but smile now as the beefy sailor stuttered and bowed, backing away.

It was her, then, that grabbed his jacket and pulled him to the fireplace. He used his father’s best intimidating stare on each of the men, hoping they knew to keep their traps shut, but knowing it wasn’t likely.

Draco looked down at the female embodiment of fire and tilted his head. She was watching him with an intense curiosity that made his throat tight.

“To Faroe?” He mumbled, hoping to dispel whatever thoughts were running through her head. It seemed to work because she nodded and grabbed a handful of the smelly powder.

“Faroe Islands.” She announced, grabbing his hand with her free one.

The blue fire burned around them, but all he felt was her warm and calming hand grasping his.


	10. Faroe

She hated this. This strange and awful feeling of weightlessness that accompanied you when one used the floo. She detested any method of travel that involved flying or that particular sensation. It was less of a heights thing leaning more towards a _loss of solid ground_ thing.

But there was something solid here. Something warm and calming, ensuring her that there would be earth under her feet any moment. And when she blinked her eyes open only to see the shadowed face of Malfoy gazing at her, she realized the earth had never felt so far away.

His grey eyes were brilliant with the fading blue flames flickered around them, giving way to a darkness that signaled their arrival. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as she let out the shaking nervous breath she’d held.

“You alright?” He whispered to her, making her stomach flip and her head begin to ache. Why did he have to be so different? And she wanted to shrug and seem unaffected. To seem like she was the brave Gryffindor but she really did despise lying, especially to herself.

“Will be.” She replied just as quiet, not sure if it were the floo travel that made her feel so off kilter or the fact that she had held Malfoys hand and thought it nice. “Next time, we go my way.” Hermione smiled a little, hoping he’d just go with it.

And for once, sweet Merlin, he did. Malfoy simply nodded and released her hand. She felt the loss instantly but with it came the realization that they were in another parlor. A welcome distraction.

It was unlike the grimy pub they had come from. High peach walls stretched above them into a beautiful arch as dozens of tiny windows littered the ceiling letting in streams of light. It was warm and welcoming, more like a comfortable apartment.

They stepped from the fireplace and into a large, heavily carpeted room. In the corner sat an old wooden desk with papers piled high in multiple stacks. A small mousy man sat behind it with large eyes and the smallest pair of wire glasses she’d ever seen.

His warm face looked up and it took only a moment before he recognized her. She disliked this as well. Hermione would really rather leave the spotlight to the boys, her preferring anonymity. But as was always the case, she was too well known. At least, her face was.

“Ms. Granger!” He squeaked, rushing over to stand before them. He was a small man, no more than five foot tall, with brown whiskers that seemed to come straight out of his nose but his eyes were kind and soft. She liked him immediately.

“To what do we owe the honor?”

She shifted, not sure why but she didn’t want to bring attention to Malfoy just yet, though she was positive the mouse man had seen him. She just wasn’t so sure he recognized him as well. Hermione was quick to think, hoping for a reason that would both distract him and help her cause.

“Looking for some plants, actually. Marsh Marigolds?” She hoped to keep his attention but the man glanced at the figure behind her and the happiness that lit his eyes were gone, replaced with fear and anger. The defensive knot in her gut came on strong, surprising her.

“Sir, what is your name?” She asked quickly, laying a hand on his arm, bringing whatever he was about to say to a halt. He flustered a bit but finally smiled loving the attention she was giving him.

“Pardon me miss. I am Francis Nudder. Wizard administrator of Faroe and the guard to the only Floo entrance.” He puffed out his little chest, sniffing in Draco’s direction as if in warning.

“Well, Mr. Nudder, I’m on very important business. Secret, you see.” She whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards him in the pretense of privacy. It took a moment but then his eyes snapped to Draco then back to her.

The man was practically glowing with importance by the time he had set up room and board for them in a small home for wizard guests. It was gloriously private and secluded, sitting far off the coast. He had offered to fly them there but she refused, explaining that a muggle car would be less obvious.

The drive was pleasant, if not odd. Hermione had become accustomed to being by herself. She loved the peace that came with silence, no loud chewing noises, or endless Quidditch talk. But for some reason his quiet made her… uncomfortable.

As soon as the small cottage like house came into view, she was ready to jump from the vehicle and nearly did so as it stopped. She handed the driver some of the currency she’d traded Mr. Nudder for and bid him farewell.

The cab sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its trail. Hermione stood watching, knowing that Draco now stood behind her. She could feel his eyes on her and she suddenly felt very self-conscious.

First thing she was going to do was take a bloody shower. Her skin felt sticky and her hair was a nasty mess.

“Want to flip a coin to see who can bathe first?” He asked, voice light and deep at the same time. She laughed in relief, turning to see him running a hand through his own less-than-clean hair.

“Oh I see. Not going to be the gentleman and let me go first?” She remarked, waltzing past him and unlocking the door to the small two story cottage.

He chuckled, the sound making the stomach flutter curiously, and followed her inside. The weight of the moment had been lifted and while she knew something strange was happening, she wasn’t about to stop it.

“I thought offering to flip _was_ being the gentleman.”

Her laughter filled the small room as the enchanted lights flickered on, the fire being lit as soon as they walked in. It was a cozy place, wooden and rustic, but definitely comfortable.

In the end, she won the coin toss. Her relief was palpable, even as he mock scowled, blond brows brought together in an overly dramatic way. He stayed in her thoughts as she relaxed in the hot steam, preferring the shower over the tub. The water was perfect and helped relieve the tense knots that had set up shop in-between her shoulder blades.

Her clothes would be washed and ready by the time she got out thanks to a few careful spells and a bucket, but she would still find her pajamas. Just because she would be sharing the space for a few nights didn’t mean she’d have to not be comfortable, right?

After she toweled off she still found herself wondering if it were appropriate. She donned the red and gold flannel boxer shorts and large Gryffindor t-shirt she and some other muggle born girls had made. It was her favorite thing to wear, having been with her through most of her Hogwarts years.

But she’d never thought to wear it in front of a man like Draco. He was, if she were being completely honest with herself, intimidating and dark. But so very handsome.

And she wanted to smack herself for even thinking it, but it was true. She had always thought he’d be so cute if it weren’t for his attitude. And wouldn’t you know it? Looks like he had changed his. But that’s not why she was here, she reminded herself.

She was going to find a cure, heal him, and get back to the business of discovering wild and mystical beasts. So she lifted her chin and tossed up her hair into her usual messy bun.

She’d be damned if he made her feel uncomfortable in her favorite lazy clothes.

With a long warm blanket tucked under her arm, Hermione flounced down the stairs and came face to face with something akin to heaven.

Draco stood barefoot in a plain white sleeveless shirt and dark faded jeans over a steaming pot. The room was filled with a spicy and savory aroma making her stomach growl. She’d forgotten how damn hungry she was.

Quicker than a pixie, something hot and forbidden flashed in his silver eyes as she shuffled into the small kitchen. It vanished quickly, his eyes going back to the meal he’d been working on, though the pink in his ears assured Hermione she hadn’t been mistaken .

Malfoy couldn’t be attracted to her. Surely she'd been mistaken. She was a mudblood, a muggle born! She wasn’t even that attractive, for Merlin’s sake. Hermione tried to convince herself that it was the hunger for food, and desire for rest that made her mind play games.

Still, she awkwardly made her way to the small two person table. A  single place had been set, tea made, and what looked like an attempt at biscuits. She smiled gingerly as he met her eyes, reassured when he nodded to her.

"What is that lovely smell?" Hermione whispered, afraid to break the spell of calm that she was working around her mind. 

“It’s a stew. Sort of simple. The pantry was stocked thankfully but I don’t know how to make much.” Draco replied just as quietly, placing a bowl in front of her. Before she could ask if he were joining her, Draco made for the stairs, eager more for the shower, then for dinner. She watched him go as she worried her bottom lip.

This adventure was turning out to be… interesting.

 

 


	11. A little fire

The deep copper tub was nearly overflowing with calming hot water with only his head and knees above the surface. But try as he might, he still couldn’t wash away the image of Granger.

She was stunning, there was no arguing that. But there was more. There was _always_ more with Hermione Granger.

There was the simple clean scent of rain and soap that emanated from her, no matter what. The golden glow that would spark inside her eyes when she got excited. Even her mad mess of curls made him ache in ways that were utterly foreign to him.

And yet it was not her physical beauty that had caused him years of internal disquiet. It was the very wild life that radiated from her. It was intelligence and confidence. As a boy, he had been taught that she was disgusting because of it.

As a man, he was utterly drawn to her.

Knowing this did him no good, however. He had been her tormentor, her most hated schoolmate. He was only an obligation to her and the very thought reminded him of the reason for his self-imposed exile.

So he tried to focus on his current problem. The wound on his leg had closed, the flesh having come together stiffly, but the black and grey veins that ran from it were still there. It was a scary sight, to be sure. He had seen such terrible curses and spells when his father had taken him to Voldemort’s camp.

There had been muggles… Innocent people used as playthings. He had known then, that the war wasn’t about blood loyalty. It was evil people following blindly the orders of a mad man. He wanted nothing to do with it.

But his Aunt Bella had threatened the life of his mother. Her own sister. He couldn’t let the only person to care for him be tortured by a psychopath. He had had no choice… right?

Draco cut his bath short, not wanting to spend any more time thinking about the past, Granger, or his fate, though it seemed all three were rarely far from his thoughts.

He had intended to go directly to bed, skipping the meal he had created, but somehow found himself seated across from her at the small table. Her eyes had smiled upon seeing him and he couldn’t stop the damn flip of his stomach.

“You make one hell of a stew.” She commented, lifting her bowl to take a deep drink of the both. He smiled slightly, looking out the windows. Draco was unsure why her praise meant so much. Perhaps it was because it was the last thing he expected from her.

“I have found I enjoy cooking.” He paused, not sure if he should tell her more. Speaking of his past, and with her of all people, was not a thing he ever wanted to do. But the words were formed and the setting was comfortable... “I wasn’t allowed to before.”

Her gaze was upon him with striking intensity but her face was open and honest. She seemed to be, as strange as he thought it, genuinely interested.

“I’ll be the first to admit I had been pampered.” Draco started cautiously, unaware of how to truly connect with her, not sure if he wanted to. Hermione, however, snorted with mirth and stood. He was about to retreat to his rooms in defeat when she motioned for him to follow.

He did, without second thoughts. 

They walked to the couches, one facing the other, with warm cotton blankets strewn across fluffy pillows. The fire warmed the room but with the night came the cold sea breeze that tried to creep in between the cabins walls. He sat across from her and watched with stunned silence as she poured two glasses of amber Firewhisky.

“Pampered is a kind way of putting it.” She remarked jokingly, sitting with her feet tucked under her body. She cradled the glass, taking small sips.

“Spoiled.” He amended, his own cup nearly empty after his first drink. The warmth seeped through him making the stiffness in his shoulders less noticeable. “But I also was forbidden from doing a great many things. Punishments were... never easy.”

She nodded, this time there was no mocking in her movements. He hesitated, knowing that telling her about his past could be a terrible mistake. But something inside him wanted her to understand. Needed her to.

He'd analyze this need later, but for now, in the warm firelight with quiet company, he spoke of things long buried. 

“As a boy, I spent more time with our house elves than was proper. But they were kind.” He sat back with his head resting on the back of the couch. “My father had forbidden me from entering the kitchens when he caught me there once. Dobby had tried to teach me how to bake muffins, after I begged him to. My father was furious.”

The room became far away, the sounds of embers popping and soft wood crackling were the only things to fill his ears. But the noises Dobby had made that night as his father tortured the poor thing, filled his mind. He sighed heavily, trying to remember the better nights, where he and the elves would bake in secret.

“I really did enjoy the times I had there. Creating food was its own kind of magic to me.” He admitted, watching the fire’s reflection the window. "My mother knew. I think that's why I enjoyed it so much. It was our secret and she'd loved everything I made."

“So you should pursue cooking.” He heard Hermione whisper, though her statement was solid and sure. He found her eyes and was surprised to find them wet. “You’ve got no one holding you back now.”

His dry laugh sounded hollow even to his own ears. Damn, he hated himself sometimes.

“If only that were true, Granger. I would have the whole wizarding world breathing down my neck if I tried to.” He closed his eyes, rubbing his worn and dry hands against his face. “They would love to see me burn.”

“That’s not entirely true, you know.” She offered softly. Draco wanted to believe her but he simply couldn’t. He wasn’t up for fairy tales tonight.

“I like my life how it is.” He lied stiffly, hoping she couldn’t see the truth that bled through.

“Uh-huh. Just like I loved mine.” She scoffed, rolling those eyes again. He could only stare, slack jawed and astounded. What could she possibly hate about her life?

“Seriously, Draco?” She questioned, as if she could read his mind. His stomach clenched a bit at the way she used his first name.  “You talk about them judging you, but try being put up on a pedestal. _THE_ pedestal. I couldn’t do a damn thing wrong, even if I tried. I didn’t want the attention then and I sure as hell don’t want it now.” Her cup was empty and its fire burned bright in those amber eyes. "And the cameras, reporters, the bloody _questions_. God, it was enough to drive a woman bonkers."

He felt a flash of wild attraction twist his stomach and he tried to stomp it down. To no avail.

“ _They_ wanted me to work at the Ministry. _They_ thought I’d be a perfect teacher. _They_ had big big plans for me. But _I_ wanted none of it. So I left with haste and refused to let them have power over me.” She huffed heavily, the steam finally seeming to evaporate.

The heat still remained in him, however.

“Looks like we are not so different.” He mumbled, his voice deep and quiet. He wasn’t sure he had actually spoke out loud until she grinned. It was a little lopsided and a tad more drunk, but a grin nonetheless.

“I could have told you that, Draco.” And with that he felt his control slipping fast.

He was two stupid seconds from kissing her solid. Something he'd only dreamed about in secret. He needed to leave the room and do it before he could do any irreparable damage.

But he needn’t worry. Her soft snoring reached his ears before he had a chance to flee. The silly girl had been so exhausted that the little drink and a good yell put her right to sleep.

“Hermione, you silly Witch.”

He walked over silently and adjusted her slumped form to a more comfortable flat one. A few pillows, a blanket, and a glass of water later, he went to find his own resting place.

The night held many strange dreams for Draco, but none that he wish to wake from. A good thing too, seeing as the next day would test him in ways he thought had long since passed.

 


	12. A trade

The cliffs of Faroe were sharp, jutting up from the earth in tall and staggering spikes. These intimidating formations were covered in deceivingly lush green moss. It’s peaceful scent mingling with the sweet mid-day sea breeze that swirled around the duos feet. Hermione wanted to find a way around them.

Draco wanted to go over.

To her annoyance, he had insisted on bringing his small satchel which held his broom. Had she been alone, she would spend hours, if not days, trying to figure out how to get to her goal without flying. But they didn’t have the time and she was already a little edgy, having awoke from a strange and disturbing dream.

The source of said dream was now unpacking his broom from the enchanted bag, his long blond hair having come undone from his tie and hung over his brow. She wanted to forget the perverted dream but her body had reacted in a way it never had before. Not with Ron. Not with anyone.

For Merlin’s sake, she had felt an ache that was much too close to lust for her comfort.

 _Come on. You know that it was,_ Hermione thought darkly, knowing that lying to herself wasn’t going to work. It absolutely _was_ lust. Hot and heavy, in a very painful way.

Painful because she knew that there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to relieve her ache. Hermione might be a little hot for Draco Malfoy but that didn’t mean she could forget all of his past transgressions and jump right into bed with him. And that’s assuming he wanted too.

But he had looked at her with heat last night… Right?

The simple fact that she was even thinking about being intimate with him made her second guess herself. Was she really aching for Draco, as laughable as it sounded, or was she wanted companionship in general? Was it the mystery he presented that attracted her, or was it the silent man himself?

Damn it all, she needed to just stop thinking about this. Pressing matters of saving his life…

“I hate flying.” She hissed, crossing her arms in a very Weasly way. She chin was pointed up, but she felt the pull of fear in her stomach, positive that he could see it.

Thankfully he said nothing. His quiet silver gaze flickered to her and then back to preparing the broom. The means to her end, she was sure.

But despite her almost lifelong fear of flying, there was also a strange excitement that tickled her chest. She wasn’t going to be in the air with just anyone, after all. He was trained in not just Quidditch flying, but in Arial maneuvers that Auror’s use. Draco might just be the safest person aside from Ron or Harry for her to fly with.

The reminder of her two dear friends made her resolve stiffen. She was a Gryffindor. A brave and courageous fighter of evil! A little broom ride is nothing. So with a deep breath and a silent prayer, she walked towards the kneeling man as he tied the satchel to the small hook at the base near the straw.

He turned those strange, nearly luminescent eyes on her, a question there. One she knew the answer to.

“I trust you.” She said solidly and honestly, surprising herself. His face remained stone but she could see his eyes sparked with some silent emotion.

No time to consider that, though she was sure to analyze everything that happened later tonight.

Hermione nodded, shaking off her anxiety. Just another adventure, she declared to herself. Her resolve didn’t falter, even as he mounted the broom effortlessly. He looked natural, sitting there, hand outstretched.

If she'd taken the time to really think about, this would be a situation she'd never thought possible. Not in a million years. The terror of her youth, dashing and quiet, holding out his hand for her so they could fly together. 

Without another thought, she took his hand. But instead of guiding her the sit behind him, as the other boys had done, Draco brought her to sit in front.

“This way you can be in control.” He mumbled after she faltered. It was so strange that his offer of control made her heart beat a little harder. And not from fear.

“Thank you.” She whispered, sitting herself awkwardly in front of his body. There was inches separating them, but she could swear she felt his heat.

Shaking her head of such stupid thoughts, she gripped the handle, closed her eyes, and nodded. But when she didn’t feel them take off, there being no sudden jarring that took them up into the air, she turned with a questioning look.

“You can’t fly if you can’t see.” Draco commented smoothly. The cut of his chin was even more noticeable alongside his smirk. A smile she remembered, though it held none of the animosity.

He found this funny, the prat.

“Taking off is the hardest part.” She snapped back, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes. The noon-day sun was full and bright making the hillside look like a soft sea of green. It was the perfect day for a quick glide, but her nerves were thinned.

If it weren’t for those damn cliffs, she could have gotten the marsh marigolds with none of these strange feelings.

“Right.” Draco suddenly grunted, sliding forward so his stomach lay flush against her back. Hermione stiffened immediately, hating the way her brain brought forth images from her dream. 

Strong arms slid around her waist and his hands found hers. Hermione nearly gasped when his face came forward too, chin resting on her shoulder. She stared studiously forward, praying he couldn’t sense the strange mixture of fear and attraction coursing through her body.

Two emotions never having been felt in unison. 

“Ok Hermione, lets kick off.” He whispered in her ear, causing shivers the flutter down her spine. Surely he felt it, seeing as they were so closely pressed together. She groaned internally, embarrassed by her bodies response.

But she didn’t have time to feel the mortification. Within seconds, their knees had bent and with a quick push, they were climbing up into the vast sky.

"Oh my god, oh dear..." She muttered over and over again as the earth quickly shrank. "Oh boy, high up. Oh dear..."

Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes open, and aside from the initial seasick rolling of her stomach, she felt... not quite like herself.

Draco was holding her tightly as she worked to get her breathing back to normal. His arms felt solid. Protective.

“Now we tilt forward a tad.” Soft though it was, his voice had become deeper. She nodded, trying to keep face.

Wind whistled past, pushing against their hovering bodies. Knees made of jello, heart pounding, and mind reeling, Hermione took a moment to collect herself. 

Finally, her body leaned forward and she was so very thankful his followed. The lack of space between them now felt more solid and reassuring. Which is probably exactly what he had intended.

A bubble of laughter escaped her as they smoothly drifted over the sharp cliffs. It was so unlike any of her past experiences flying. They weren’t speeding away from a battle or zooming through the night sky, outrunning Death Eaters. Or forced to help with Quidditch plays, back in the burrow. 

This was lazy and slow. It was smooth.

It was something she could see herself wanting to try again, so long as Draco was the one holding her. But only because he was a very good instructor. Very caring. 

There was a gust of salty ocean wind, kicking them up quickly causing her to shriek. But his body leaned into hers, tilting them just so. It kept the broom from overturning and they continued to move forward slowly.

Red faced but utterly enjoying herself, Hermione took in the surrounding area. The steep moss covered cliffs circled a small flat area of land where hundreds of flowers took refuge from the ocean breeze. That was the very thing they needed.

“You’re amazing.” She breathed out, surprising them both. After a tense moment where she was unsure if he even heard her, she felt his laugh vibrate through her back.

“I know.” He announced grandly. Their laughter followed them as the couple landed neatly in the hidden clearing of flowers.

Their landing was mostly perfect. A bit of stumble, and a quick dismount from Hermione while Draco stayed mounted. She only had to grab a few flowers and…

A flutter of small wings whizzed past her hand and she felt a little pinch. She knew exactly what it was before she saw them. A fairy-like creature known as a Divas. She had read about them in her search for the fire Salamanders.

A Divas will not harm you if you give them something in trade, or at least that’s what was written. They must be the caretakers of the flowers. 

But these little creatures were rare and much isn’t known about them. She would have to remember this location, for she really wished to know more.

Right now, however, she needed the flowers and had to find something to trade. It had to be something valuable. Something with meaning. A Divas knew junk from not.

Damn it all! Of course there would be rare magical creatures where rare magical plants were. 

“Everything alright?” Draco called, a tenseness in his voice meant he was aware there was something off.

“Just a second.” She cautioned, digging through her jumpers pockets. Nothing but her wand, some papers and a granola bar.

 _Bugger._ She looked back to find Draco still on the broom, but with his wand out. His silver eyes were trained on her.

“Do you have anything we can use to trade?” She asked him quietly, seeing the Divas hovering in the shadows from the corner of her eyes. It took only a moment before he realized what was happening. Hermione carefully made her way to him as he fished around his satchel.

When he brought his hand out she was surprised to find a pocket watch with the Malfoy crest gleaming in emeralds.

“Draco, that’s-,” She started but he pressed the heavy watch into her palms and looked her in the eyes with something akin to relief.

“Believe me when I say I truly don’t want the burden of it.”

All she could do was nod and back away. Draco Malfoy's jaw was stiff, lightly stubbled, and set in his determination. Hermione couldn't help the swirl of feelings deep in her stomach.

Clouds wafted lazily above, unaware of the little scene below. A witch, wizard, some flowers and little creatures with an eye for trinckets.

A moment passed as Hermione held out her arm, letting the expensive heirloom dangle from its chain. Emeralds sparkled and shimmered, gold still as polished like new. 

And then it vanished, the Divas having snatched it up. She waited, hoping the gift was accepted. When moments passed and nothing happened, Hermione bent and grabbed a handful of flowers and slowly made her way back to the serious faced man. She smiled brightly to him, wishing to alleviate the tense set of his shoulders.

When she settled herself in front of him for the return flight, he seemed to hold her even closer than before. Or maybe that was just her imagination again.

“Can we fly back to the house?” Hermione breathed daringly before they could take off. She wanted to get back to the house as soon as possible and perhaps write down her encounter of the creatures. Plus, she was starving and if she weren’t mistaken, it was her night to cook.

“Nothing I’d like more.” He mumbled against her ear and she got the feeling he was just as eager to get back.

Too bad that she didn’t get a chance to discover why he was so eager, because when they did manage to arrive back at the little house there as a certain red-headed terror awaiting them.


	13. Crash

Ginny Weasly was a firestorm on a good day. Not that she disliked her, quite the opposite actually. And while she really wished her dear friend wasn’t here, Hermione knew Ginny wouldn’t have come out in her condition if she wasn’t truly worried.

The telltale sign of expectant motherhood bulged out before her. She was much further along since the last time Hermione had seen her and the guilt of that knowledge made her cringe.

Draco sat quietly behind her as they drifted closer to the steaming, flame haired woman. He might have been silent, but she could feel his whole body tense in preparation. For battle or for flight, she didn’t know.

Instead of flying off into the proverbial sunset, Hermione braced herself for the storm that was Ginny.

But as they landed, instead of curse words and hexes, Ginny rushed over (as fast as one could in her condition) and wrapped her arms around her, dragging her from the broom. There were tears streaming from the younger Weasly’s eyes, quickly dampening Hermione’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey.” Hermione cooed, confused. From over the weeping woman’s shoulder, she saw Malfoy packing up his broom while moving towards the door. She silently thanked him, meeting his eyes for a moment. She didn’t know what she saw there, but it made her heart ache in strange ways.

“So angry.” Ginny mumbled through the tears. Her voice was muffled by the thick sweater, but she could still hear it.

“I know.” Hermione sighed, stroking the other woman’s long hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Not even an owl.”

“I know, but-.”

“Thought you’d been hurt.”

“Ginny,-“

“Wait.” Ginny pulled away abruptly. The angry tears had stopped flowing, though her whole face was wet and red, and in her eyes was a new confusion. “Was that _Draco Malfoy_?”

Hermione cringed again, but this time it was not from guilt. No, this time it was because of the way her friend had said his name. Hate and anger and all the things she had herself felt. But that seemed like so long ago now.

Things were… different… in a way. 

“Yes it was.” She replied slowly, not sure where the subject of their conversation was, but knowing she needed to stand up for him since he wouldn’t be likely to do it himself. “It’s a long story and I will tell you but you have to promise to be civil.”

Ginny cocked her head to the side and Hermione was reminded once again of the other woman’s intelligence. She was brilliant on the field and in the class room. But Ginny’s best trait was that she saw the truth. Ever since her very first year and all of the evil things she had survived, the youngest Weasly had trained herself to see past any illusions.

And it was clear she saw something in Hermione.

Her ginger brows shot up but the woman remained silent. Nothing but the sound of far off waves crashing into the steep cliffs could be heard.

Inside the house, Draco sat by the second floor window, staring out at the strange and rather personal scene below. Hermione was pacing back and forth, using her hands in that way she does. The red one stood still, arms crossed over her rounded stomach in what he thought was an increasingly annoying way.

His curly haired spitfire was doing her best to convince the Weasly of something. He could only guess as to what, but the later woman didn’t seem at all convinced.

He decided to let them have a moment of privacy. It wasn’t any of his business anyway.

Instead, he stripped behind his closed bedroom door and carefully removed the bandage from his leg and torso. The gash had opened up some on the flight back, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Hermione had felt like heaven.

Draco held her much closer than he should have but he’d told himself it was because of her fear of flying. He sighed heavily, not at all believing that. He’d brought his face close to hers, shocked and utterly aroused by the scent of her hair.

By the way she blindly trusted him.

By the way she closed her eyes and smiled slightly as they wind blew past them.

By the way she shivered and pressed back. 

Even now, he could almost taste it. Her excitement had been tangible making him wish he wasn’t the cursed son of a Death Eater. He wanted, now more than ever, to be someone else. Someone who might be able to win her heart…

“Damn it…” He cursed to himself, refusing to let his mind wander into impossibilities. And since when was he even interested in her in that way? Enemy, competitor, victim. Draco had sworn off women, of any sort of ties, but god help him, Hermione was....

Too good for him.

He found himself in the bathroom, towel around his waist. He splashed icy water on his face in an attempt to cool the heat he felt both for Hermione and the kind that radiated from his wound.

Opening the towel, he inspected the damage. It’ll need a binding spell, though he recalled her saying traditional magic didn’t work on this kind of injury.

His body was beginning to ache with signs of the fever. The dark grey lines that zigzagged across his torso seemed to be traveling further up his stomach and down his leg. It looked much like a spider web of poison.

The light from the enchanted candles cast shadows across his face and as he looked in the full mirror he saw himself for what he was. A broken man with only darkness coursing through him.

He really should put aside his desire for Hermione. His life was never meant to entwine with hers. He was bred in darkness and evil deeds while she was born from love and hope. He was doomed to either death or eternal shame.

If he only did one honorable thing in his life, it would be to ensure her safety and happiness during this trying journey. He owed her that much.

His thoughts were cut short, however, by a quick gasp. He looked to the bathroom door, realizing that in his haste he’d forgotten to close it. Years of living on his own hadn’t helped his stupid forgetfulness.

Hermione stood in the doorway, eyes roaming his body with a look he couldn’t quite discern while Weasly stood behind her.

Shock followed by some strange empathy flickered in her eyes. He covered the wound and himself with the sheet, feeling the flush of embarrassment color his skin. It was a quiet tense moment before the red-head began to giggle uncontrollably.

Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts (whatever they were, seeing as he couldn’t read her face).

“Holy _shit_! I am so sorry!” She called over her shoulder, spinning quickly and dragging the now laughing girl away. He wanted to drown himself. Truly, he should have known that the universe wanted a worse fate for him than death.


	14. Stand

Naked. She just had to see him bloody naked. After trying and _apparently_ failing to convince Ginny that she wasn’t in any way attracted to their childhood tormentor, she’d gave herself away by _ogling_ him!

God, she was helpless.

Hermione dragged her still laughing friend away from the red faced man and down the stairs. She had meant to let Ginny rest in her room while she and Draco talked a bit but on the way… Well, no need bringing up the memory.

She sat the other woman at the table and rushed off to make tea. Hermione desperately needed a moment to compose herself as the stresses of the day’s events started a heavy beating behind her eyes. She stayed by the kettle as the water heated, slowly and wonderfully silent until the low hum became the piercing whistle.

Her face was composed and even though her thoughts were not, she thought she could bluff her way through whatever awkward conversation there was likely to be had.

Ginny sat waiting at the table but her face no longer looked giddy with childish humor, but was rather thoughtful and serious. This in of itself wasn’t so odd. Her friend had long since had moments of shinning humor, much like her twin brothers had had, and other moments of introverted silence. Very much like how the only twin left was.

Hermione set the plate of tea down and placed herself carefully across from the still figure.

“Gin?” She whispered cautiously. Her friend’s eyes flitted to hers, the far off look dissipating in an instant. An easy smile, if somewhat crooked, reminded Hermione of how Ginny was so much like her brother. These were moments where Hermione missed Ron.

She missed his easy friendship, his loyalty. But she’d been honest with herself all those years ago. She had merely loved the _idea_ of him as a spouse.

“We probably shouldn’t tell the boys.” Ginny remarked casually, her face glowing with hidden mirth. “They’d likely fly here and hex him to hell.”

Hermione snorted at the idea, knowing that despite everything, Harry would be most likely to forgive Draco. Ron might, too. After a few good punches.

“Yea, I’d really like to get him all healed before having him face those two.” She smiled in relief, glad that Ginny seemed to be on her side. It wasn’t hard to do, faced with everything Hermione had told her.

Which was almost everything. You couldn’t hide a damn thing from the girl.

“Poor Malfoy. I think I’ve embarrassed him to the point of hiding.” Ginny whispered, her cheeks a little pink.

 _Ha! Looks like she wasn’t unaffected either. Who wouldn’t be, with a physique like his,_ Hermione thought heatedly.

Even if the poison seemed to have spread….

The thought brought her back down from the lightness. Hermione knew that an ally in helping Draco wasn’t something she could simply squander. It was rare to find a friend who could hold a secret.

“Ginny, I might not have liked him very much as a girl and I’m still not sure how I feel about him now,” She conceded, watching as her friend turned strikingly intelligent eyes on her. “But I don’t want him dead. There are a few ingredients I hadn’t figured out how to get. Some will be easier. Some aren’t.”

Hermione didn’t want to say too much, however. There was one thing to the potion that might be downright impossible, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try her best. It was his life on the line, after all.

“Anything at all.” Ginny said surely, the fire was back in her eyes. The taste of adventure burned there and Hermione wondered briefly if Ginny was ok with where she was in her life. Wife to the Boy Who Lived. Mother to what would be the second most famous potter.

But she knew Ginny loved Harry and had wanted to become a mother. So Hermione smiled, keeping the thought to herself and giving her a list of two ingredients. She could have found them herself but the need was becoming greater, seeing as the poison in Draco had started to advance.

Ginny took it with a promise of secrecy and hugged her tight. The sun was low on the horizon, signally in the eventual end to one of the craziest days of their adventure so far. Hermione called the taxi company and smiled as Ginny strolled about the cozy living space while they waited. She folded several blankets and looked damn near close to dusting when thankfully, the taxi arrived.

Before Ginny left the porch, she turned once more to Hermione for a hug. While they clung to each other, Hermione heard her old friend whisper.

“Be safe with him.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if that meant what she thought it did but didn’t get a chance to ask seeing as when Ginny pulled away, her eyes were trained to some point behind her.

“And I swear to all that is sacred _if you hurt her in any way_ I will end you.” And with that ominous statement, she turned and lumbered into the taxi.

Hermione watched as they sped across the rolling hills, far into the distance. She waited until the vehicle was no longer visible. But still she didn’t want to turn around, knowing that no matter how many articles of clothing he’d put on, it still wouldn’t be enough for her mind not to wander.

“You Ok?” He asked suddenly, making her jump. Merlin’s beard, she was being childish. Is wasn’t the first time she’d seen a naked man, damn it!

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to rid herself of the pounding headache but it was no use. A soft hand grasped her arm and brought her inside. She wondered briefly why she let him lead her to the couch but didn’t really find it in her to think too hard on it.

He sat her at the couch and brought the tea. Her face was staring steadily at the fire, wondering when the feeling of awkward embarrassment would go away. But she didn’t need to worry too much.

Draco ensconced himself to the kitchen area and began to silently cook. The aromas he created, wafting around her, calmed the heavy thrum of her headache. She relaxed, sinking into the couch and simply listened to his movements.

And then the most curious thing happened.

He began to hum. A legitimate hum! The sound was low and deep, but smooth. It was a tune she recognized, though she couldn’t quite place it.

She closed her eyes, listening. Yes, she definitely knew the song. Her foot thrummed at the beat as his uninterrupted humming came from across the room. When she heard the table being set, she couldn’t take the curiosity anymore.

Hermione wondered into the open kitchen area, surprised by the bounty he’d produced in the short amount of time.

“What is that you’re humming?” She asked lightly, smiling at the way his eyes widened in surprise. He must not have known he was doing it. Which made her smile a little bigger.

“Oh um…” He mumbled, turning away from her to gather the plates from the high cupboard. “It’s a stupid song.”

“But I know it.” She remarked, grabbing the dishes from him to place on the table. She might not be able to cook, but she could at least help set things up. “Where’s it from?”

He looked her in the eyes, his own face wary.

“I’m not going to laugh, Malfoy.” She urged gently. Her smile softened as she realized he was feeling just as awkward about this whole thing as she. Probably even more so.

He sat down at the table and began to make his plate. Hermione wanted to argue with him but she knew she shouldn’t push him too far. His body was a battle ground from the poison and she really should just let it go…

So she pouted as she sat, lip out and eyes wide with mock sadness. He rolled his eyes as soon as he saw her but she grinned when the corner of his mouth twitched.

“It’s from a movie.” He admitted before taking a large mouthful of delicious smelling pasta. Her own mouth, however, plopped open in what she was sure was an absurd gesture.

“You-,” she gasped, utterly shocked.

“Yes. I watched a muggle film.” He commented lightly, waving his fork around the air as if he hadn’t just said the most unlikely thing. “In fact, I’ve seen quite a few.”

“Which movie is that one from?” She laughed, thinking about Harry’s reaction should he find out.

Draco paused, eyeing her from behind his glass. He drank deeply before responding, making her watch his Adams apple bob slightly. She gulped in response, feeling the tightening in her stomach once again.

By the spark in his eyes, he must have noticed.

“Stand By Me.” He mumbled, looking back down towards his food. It took her a moment to place the song, but when she did, she realized why it must have stuck with him.

“That’s the American movie, right?” She asked, knowing it was. But he must have liked it enough to be subconsciously humming the song.

He nodded, his guarded expression easing slightly. 

“I came across it last summer. It was playing in an old theater in the south of Spain. I couldn’t understand the words but the music was the same. Good story as far as I could tell.”

“I’ll have to show you the original.” Hermione said without much thought, enjoying the calm and easy moment that they were having. "There's a few actually, you should see."

But it was his stillness that brought her back to reality.

“What?” She hedged, already sensing the calm and peaceful moment vanish. 

“Granger, I’m not sure if I’m going to last that-,” He started but she tossed down her fork and stood quickly, retreating to the living room. He was going to put into words her fear. The bastard was... why couldn't she just have this one night of calm. 

He followed, a step behind.

“I _will_ cure you.” She threw over her shoulder as she jogged up the stairs to her room.

“Hermione, I know you want to try but the poison is spreading and I don’t want you to waste-,” He tried again but was having none of it. "You saw it... the wound. It's spreading and now open. I feel the fever."

"Not yet." 

"Hermione, you know it. It's developing too quickly and we have one ingredient. One. I'm sorry,-"

She made her way to the large bed in the center of her room and scrambled around the pack she had tossed there earlier today. Inside was the flask of potion from the other day. She had made enough for three full doses and it looked as though he’ll be needing the next one today.

She turned to yell for him but came face to face with his broad chest. She fought the urge to step back, instead looking up into stormy grey eyes.

“You have to let me do this.” She whispered, her voice breaking from the fear and guilt. His arms came around her in a powerful embrace and she immediately leaned into him, seeking the warmth of his comfort. "We can fix this. You've got to trust me."

Seconds ticked by, the room darker by the moment. Slowly, the sun vanished completely over the cliffs, and the space became somehow smaller. 

“Ok.” Draco reluctantly mumbled against her hair. It was a simple concession but it gave her hope. 

The woman heaved a deep sigh, sinking deeper into his embrace. 

But as she stood clinging to him, Hermione began to feel the stirrings of longing twist her heart.

This... This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. And he wasn’t… he hadn’t been…

Hermione sighed once more, gently releasing herself from his grasp, only to miss his embrace after he stepped from the room with no other words. She looked down at the bottle, knowing that he’d have to drink it the next morning.

She’ll need all the hope and luck and fate she could get.

Because tomorrow…

Tomorrow they would leave this place and go to hallowed halls of their past.

 

* * *

 

I know that last chapter was so short but I sort of had to delete a bunch of it just so I could fill this one out. Review this for me and let me know what you think. I truly appreciate all of your reviews and find myself rereading them for courage and inspiration.

Thanks again

-Moonandwinter


	15. Heat

It had been several years since the day Draco had sworn on his ancestor’s graves that he would never again return to Hogwarts.

And yet here he was, sitting beneath the awning of the small country house he and Hermione were sharing for such a short amount of time. The early morning sunlight was struggling to shine through the heavy clouds as he listened to Granger rattle on about why they _needed_ to go for the ingredient or he would _surely_ die and so on and so on. But Draco already knew he’d follow her anywhere she decided to go.

He had promised her the previous night, after all. And really, he didn’t even like his ancestors all that much. Perhaps he didn’t fight it because the fever was making it hard to think. Or maybe because her face was so enchanting when she spoke so passionately. Whatever the reason, he took the chance to interrupt her when she took a deep breath in preparation for what would likely be another well-prepared speech.

“If you are quite done, we can be on our way before the storm settles.” He commented lightly, letting it hang in the air a moment before looking to her figure beside him.

Her utterly charming look of slack jawed confusion gave Draco a moment to hurry inside. She followed him all the way up to his room, whispering to herself about complicated men, but she stopped just at the entrance. He felt the pulsing pain in his leg and tried not to wince as his stomach clenched tightly. His heart thudded in his ears like heavy drums nearly drowning out the moment.

Draco wordlessly summoned his bag and turned his back, hoping she would not notice, for he had shown so much weakness these last few days that his father would be insanely disappointed. And while he cared not for what his father thought, it was hard to escape the feeling his weakness brought about.

He frowned slightly as he began to shove his very few items into the satchel, wishing that Hermione would take the signal to leave for her own room.

But the tension that had settled between his shoulders when she had awoken him that morning was clear to anyone who looked. As a low rumble sounded far over the sharpened hills, promising the storm he felt in his bones, he heard her steps come closer.

For a fraction of a second, he thought perhaps she had actually left to her rooms after all and the intensity of his disappointment surprised him. But it vanished as he felt the tentative caress of a small hand as it lay upon his arm.

“It won’t be easy.” She cautioned softly from behind him, knowing exactly what she was speaking of. The damnable woman’s concern made his stomach flip and he was once again reminded as to why they were on this wild goose chase. “But it is necessary.”

He simply sighed, shoulders slumping with the weight of his shame. Draco knew the risks of staying by her side in this journey but had really hoped to avoid going to familiar places. Especially ones that were so linked to his own downfall.

“Malfoy,”The solf lilt of her voice quivered with unsaid words. He still couldn’t look at her, knowing she’d see far deeper into his soul than anyone had before.

That's how exposed her felt. How impossibly open, unhidden, and readable. It was only her. God, he hated it. He was weak. He was a fool. 

But she must have changed her mind on what she was going to say, instead calmly removing her hand and briskly giving him instructions on what was to be expected that day.

Draco nodded stiffly and packed slowly, listening to her voice and letting the deep and silky tone soothe some of his worries. The pain even seemed to dull with her words. She continued to speak of the things left to do, places to go, even as she went across the hall to her own room, keeping the door open for him to hear.

It was then he realized what she was doing. She was a smart witch, that was for sure, but it was her compassion that made her unique. She kept the stream of mundane talk going as a way to quiet his mind and the violent shame that threatened to undo him.

And it worked. She didn’t expect him to reply or to join in and for that he was even more thankful, as the rumble of the oncoming storm became nearer.

With the dark clouds churning above and a light rain beginning, she talked some more about Hagrid and how they were to stay the day with him in his cabin, waiting until nightfall. She rambled mostly about her memories of the groundskeeper and the creatures he’d introduced her too. 

She admitted to being afraid of many of the creatures, but knowing that her fear stemmed more from the unknown. That's why she does what she does. To kill her fear. 

The cab had arrived with the rain, taking them away from the strange and comfortable house. Draco caught himself smiling, the winding hillside roads turning into semi-dense city scape outside the cars window, as she recalled her first introduction of Buckbeak.

He laughed when she stuttered and blushed when she got to his role in that particular event. He’d been such a prat, though she seemed to find it funnier now than it had been then.

The trip inside the mousey man’s office was quick and uneventful, leaving him a moment to prepare his head once more for what was to come next. His body was warm with fever, leg and abdomen aching with twisting pain, but his heart had been lulled into calm by his companion.

So when she reached out her hand as they entered the fireplace, he gratefully took it. A small gesture but it meant so much.

Hermione, however, looked at him sharply.

He would have looked her in the eyes too, but things were getting a tad blurry. Not that he couldn’t keep going, but a good long rest would be in order.

The room before him slipped a bit.

It was in this moment that he tossed the powder down and exclaimed loudly, “Hogwarts!” at the same moment Hermione had hissed his name.

The green flames flicked up their bodies and engulfed them both. She stepped closer to him and with little thought, he put both arms around her, sighing in pleasure.

He didn’t remember the flames stopping. Only them getting hot. She was no longer in his arms and he instantly missed her soft body.

His legs folded under him as an old stone floor met painfully with his knees. Something high-pitched and terrified echoed in his ears but it was far off and too bothersome to think of.

A hot spike of agony slashed through him causing bile to rise up but he stubbornly pushed it down.

And then darkness again. At least it was not so hot in the darkness…


	16. Plans laid

Hermione cursed loudly several times as the green flames died around her. Somewhere close behind her a figure cloaked in darkness gasped but she had no time to care for who it was.

The stupid man she had clung to for support as they barreled through the fireplace only moments ago now lay in crumpled heap upon the richly carpeted floor. His face was blank, one might even have called it peaceful, but she knew what painful war he was fighting inside the calm visage. His pale skin, though still ghostly white, radiated with terrifying heat as her hands roamed his face and neck, begging him with silent pleas to awaken. Hermione knew then that she’d held off on giving him the spare potion too long and that his fever would keep him asleep until death if she didn’t hurry.

There was a commotion around her but by now she knew they were in a safe place, recognizing the beautifully decorated office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts. However, despite their location, her fear began to gnaw away at her heart as her hands hurried through her carefully organized bag. She had put the bottle close to the surface but the jump through the floo must have shaken it up.

“Damn it all!” She whispered fiercely, falling to the ground beside him. She pulled him closed then turned to search again inside the enchanted bag that had helped her so many times before.

Draco’s head lay limp in her lap as she twisted around and grabbed her wand, wordlessly summoning the small cold bottle she had made what seemed like ages ago.

“Granger! What in Merlin’s beard-,” The familiar voice echoed in the quiet room but Hermione kept her eyes on Draco, not daring to look away for a moment.

His damnable face. This was the spoiled boy who had tormented her. The stupid man who refused help, even when he was dying. Why couldn’t he have told her? Why must he do this to them both?

Hermione gently lifted his head, his silver blond hair softer and thicker than one could imagine ran through her fingers. Her own cloud of curls became the curtain letting no peeping eyes watch as she gently prodded his mouth open with her other hand, the shaking fingers slipping into the white lips that were impossibly more supple than his hair.

Despite the painfully terrifying situation, she felt the flush of heat strike her and not for the first time in his company was she reminded of her attraction to him. Cursing herself, she shook the thoughts away and concentrated on slowly feeding the potion to the shadowed face below her.

Hermione was thankful now for the cover of her hair as her face would surely be red. Slowly, the cold emerald liquid emptied, its thickness much like maple syrup. Hermione inhaled sharply when just as the last drop fell from the bottle there was a flicker from his eyelids.

And before she even had a moment to stop and think, she kissed him. It was a thoughtless action, done quickly and yet held all of her unexpected elation with its gentle pressure and shaking breath.

Time was a relative thing when fear and passion were playing games with one’s heart. One moment she knew where her life was heading, who she was, and the things she wanted. And then the moment their lips touched, Hermione’s ideas of her world and self, vanished like a wisp spotted.

She lay her forehead against his and breathed deeply with him, resting a still shaking palm on his chest to feel his shallow breaths become slower and more even. Her mind had become blissfully blank, no doubt shocked into silence by her actions.

Everything around her had melted away and in her minds eyes, it was only the two of them and they sat like this for some time. Hearts beating in time.

But the calm after fear only lasted so long. Eventually McGonagall approached, having long since realized she could do no more than watch the dramatic scene unfold.

“Will he survive this?” The aging woman asked, pacing the room in her traditional robes. She didn’t look a day older since the day Hermione met her, all those years ago at the age of eleven. She had often wondered if there was magic passed down by Headmasters to allow for longevity, guarded and secret. If only she knew it, she could use it for Draco.

Hermione remained on the ground, mindlessly running her hand across Draco’s forehead and hair. She stopped, however, at the much too interested way her old Professor was looking at her.

“I’m not entirely sure, Headmistress.” She replied slowly, looking into the fire to hide her face. It was a narrow window of success but she’d gone up against worse odds. But even this could not keep the fear of failure out of her voice.

“Oh my dear girl, do away with the formalities.” McGonagall huffed, finally coming to crouch next to them. Hermione looked at her former professor with the bravest face she had and she found courage in the other woman’s eyes. She was a Gryffendor after all. Stubborn determination was sort of her thing.

“I will cure him.” Hermione announced quietly, refusing to let the doubt sink its vile teeth in. No, she would do this. For more reasons now than ever before.

“That I do not doubt, Hermione.”

****

The plan had been laid out the night before as Draco had slept in the cottage. There was a game of Quidditch today, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and nearly all of the students and staff were making their way to the pitch to watch.

The headmistress set to work clearing the hallways of stragglers and not even Filch was to know of the duos presence. Draco had made many enemies during his years here and Hermione refused to put him anymore uncomfortable and even dangerous situations than he was already in.

So she used the secret routes, mesmerized by years of sneaking about, to carry the levitating body of her former classmate through the halls she loved so well. Her destination was the only room that could offer them any amount of privacy and security.

Her footsteps echoed lightly, and while she knew no students would find her, she felt her stomach tighten with anticipation. Memories of dark times started to come, unbidden and unwanted. She quickly pushed them away and peaked around a familiar corner.

The walk to the room of requirements was painfully long and yet over very quickly. The enchanted room had served her well over and over again. She even had a hand in rebuilding the Room of Hidden Things after the Cursed Fire that had ravaged it during the final battle.

But she didn’t need that room right now. No, what Hermione Granger needed was something altogether different than what she’s ever used this enchanted place before.

After the walking three times before the wall across from the old portrait, a door appeared. She smiled at the tall wooden structure like an old friend and even ran a hand gently along the carvings.

With a happy sigh, she pushed open the doors and brought Draco into the room in which he would awaken.

 

* * *

Authors note:

So, I know this is a slooooowwwww burn. Really it is and I'm not sorry. These are two characters whom I love dearly and as I write them as if they were real, I couldn't see either of them jumping into anything rashly.

But that doesn't mean I'm never getting to the good stuff. Cause I am. Trust me. Please review with your thoughts!

-Moonandwinter

 


	17. The Room

Hermione knew Draco was waking long before he started to shuffle about the heavy silken blankets. She’d heard his steady breathing slowly begin to hasten, the silence in the room dispelled by his small groans.

These were _not_ groans of pain.

From the moment she’d silently carried Draco Malfoy into this enchanted room, Hermione knew that _this_ task would be the hardest yet.

Finding the particular element needed shouldn’t be that hard, in fact, she’d brought them here because Hogwarts was known to have many rare and mystical potion ingredients. Either the potions room, or Hagrid would yield what she needed.

However the room itself, one she’d used to practice for battle, to mentally and physically prepare herself to kill another human, evil though they may be, had transformed itself into the thing Hermione wanted most.

Wanted.

Yes, she could no longer deny her want, her desires.

Thick lush carpet coated the floor, a dark blue that matched the impressively large four poster bed. Deep silken blankets sparkled like the night sky and small pin pricks of light like stars smattered about the large covers.

She’d hoped for two beds, some privacy walls, maybe a whole separate apartment. But either the room didn’t know nor care because what she got was this.

A large chamber with dozens of candles strewn about, a massive bathroom with a much too large shower, a welcoming fire, and the bed. One single bed, sinful blankets, and mind turning comfort. For Draco, at least.

Hermione sat near the edge, back painfully against one of the four wooden posters. They had been sitting like this for only a few minutes. Maybe half an hour, when he’d started to groan.

At first, of course she’d thought he’d been in pain, but then he muttered her name. Merlin, the way he said it. Her body responded, pools of warmth settling low in her stomach. Her lower lips chewed nearly raw.

Curing him. She was here to fix the damage she had caused. This remained her one true goal.

However, even as she slid from the bed before he could fully waken, marching to the expansive bathroom to throw cold water on her steaming face, Hermione knew that her body wanted his.

In all the years her and Ron had been together, the attraction was never like this. This was visceral and scary though in a way that she could become addicted too. Dark and heady and everything she shouldn’t want, but Merlin, she _wanted._

How had it come to this? Had she been too long without male attention? Perhaps. Ron was never the intimate type, nor very romantic. There had been times, of course, but…

Hermione knew comparing the two men was like comparing two completely separate species.

And he must want her as well. She’d seen the desire in his gaze. Felt the tense way he walked around her. God, and the feel of his arms tucked around her waist as they soared through the sky. The heat of his breath on her ear, whispering encouragement.

The icy water did nothing to alleviate the heat that seemed to seep through her entire body.

The memory of the fireplace, however, could. With a heavy heart, Hermione focused on this memory, so new. So real.

Draco hadn’t told her he’d been fevered. He’d waited too long; _she_ had waited too long. The grey web like veins had crept higher, getting terribly close to his chest. To his heart.

The smell of blood, of tangy metal and poison, had been enough to keep even McGonagall in shock. The matron had paced and made a point to pretend to tidy the desk. All the while Hermione waited for Draco to give signs of potion working.

In all her years as the brightest witch, Hermione had known this type of anxiety. The thoughts of death, and those of your friends. Just when she’d thought that life was behind her…

“Those shadows on your face,” his voice made her start. He stood in the doorway, still fully clothed but looking dashing and rested. So unlike the nearly dead man she had carried here. “They better not be for me.”

His tone was light, sorry in a way. Hermione bit her lip in a grin, pushing away the morose thoughts that threatened to suffocate her.

“How very presumptuous of you Malfoy.”

“Don’t tell me we are back to formalities?”

She paused, admiring the way his hip rested against the door frame, arms crossed and smirk present on his sharp jawed face. Casual and completely with undoing of any dark thoughts.

“Well it would be improper to use anything else.” Pink cheeks and smiling softly, Hermione pushed passed him to the larger, less intimate room.

But ended up coming face to face with the single bed and all of the _intimate_ thoughts came rushing back.

“Improper is my middle name, Hermione.”

“Oh posh.” Why was he acting all playful? Why now, of all times?

“Nice room.” He called through the closed door. She heard water running and smelled crisp clean soap.

“Erm. Yea, it’ll fix itself when we come back.” Hermione called back, not sure if she would be happy or disappointed.

The silence only kick started her desire to gather supplies. Kept her mind off of… Well, him.

Her timing was, as always on point. At exactly 6 o’clock, the school will be in the great hall celebrating the winners of the game. Hermione and Draco would sneak out to Hagrid’s cabin.

In disguise.

As her companion washed up, Hermione slipped into familiar fabric. Stockings, plaid, and tie. The entire ensemble. And despite the many years that had passed, it still gave her the same thrill. Sure, her hips were fuller, and the buttons were perhaps a bit more difficult to do up, but she’d be wearing the cloak after all.

A strangled cough from behind her made her jump.

Hermione spun in time to see Draco red faced, and staring.

“What?”

“It’s ok! You’ve got one too. And it’s only as a disguise. It won’t be for long. I promise.” She hurried to add. The look of pain on his face making her wonder if the potions hadn’t worked.

He muttered something under his breath but turned away, shaking his shaggy blond locks.

“Not a chance.”

“Draco!” Hermione called, a bit more bossy than intended but it worked nonetheless.

Draco turned slowly, eyes glowing with some dark but intense emotion.

“Fine. But,” He stopped himself, failing to find the words. Hermione couldn’t figure out what made his sudden attitude change, but they hadn’t the time to dwell on it. Hagrid’s hut awaited, and… well, she was feeling very self-conscious in her old school uniform.


	18. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, so this chapter is unedited and kinda rough. But I hope you like it?

These sweeping and grand halls held so many memories for Draco. Many, if not most, were too awful and depressing to dwell on. Some, however, were disturbingly similar to the absolute vision before him.

There had been many times in which Draco had watched the trio of heroes sneak about the castle. His mean little eyes always able to find the massive curly mop of hair, even from a distance.

He had snooped, and only a few times, tattled. Mostly he had stewed in anger and hatred, watching as the girl and her two best friends went on adventures, always finding trouble. The jealousy and frustration had angered him, making him blame the young girl for his own feelings.

His father loathed how much Draco spoke of her. As a boy, Draco tried to convince Lucius it was because she was vile and putrid, with tainted blood. How could she be as smart as he?

As he became older, however, and the dark plans were revealed, he’d stopped speaking about her completely. Deep in his heart, Draco knew that his parents had realized their son’s infatuation with the girl was more than hatred. Still, he tried in the only way he knew how, to protect her.

Little good that did.

“Draco, pay attention!” Hermione hissed, jolting him from his dark reminiscence.

After washing up and changing into clothes he’d truly thought he’d be wearing again, Draco had made it a point to not look at his companion. Not even a little.

He could tell that she was self-conscious and most likely as uncomfortable as he, but by the love of Merlin, she looked like his most sinful of dreams. Dreams he’d been having before he awoke just an hour before.

The whole set up. Here in Hogwarts, dressed as their younger selves. Everything about _her_. It could drive a man mad, and well, he was feeling a bit mad at the moment.

“Sorry.” He muttered, keeping his head low. They were nearly to the exit, a small path that led out to the old gamekeeper’s hut. Draco had almost barreled though the door when Hermione had hissed his name.

Two students, 4th or 5th years by the looks of them, were walking in, a spell book floating along side them.

“It’s supposed to be _root_ of lake kelp. Not the whole plant.” Sighed the black-haired girl in Slytherin robes. Her Hufflepuff companion nodded, a look of understanding dawning.

“Right. See you tonight to study?” He replied, winking in a mischievous way. Draco was impressed by the young boys brazen offer, smiling softly at the exchange.

“Not on your life, Garret.” The girl laughed, though it was obvious she was blushing.

Hermione and Draco kept close to the wall, hidden in the shadows. Each in their own minds, waiting patiently.

“I bet you were the same.” Hermione remarked when the young couple had vanished around a corner. Quietly and with intention, they stalked across the now deserted lawn. The evening sky was bright, though fading fast with the looming mountains on all sides.

“What makes you say that.” Draco muttered, surprised by her words.

Their feet were swift, and he could tell she’d memorized this path, avoiding the high windows of the school, using shadows and foliage to their advantage.

Hermione huffed, pausing to turn back and face him. It was a terrible choice on her part. Draco could see her fully now, dressed to the letter. He couldn’t stop the fire that lit his stomach and whether it was because of the poisons fever, or from his intense desire, he felt his entire body heat at the sight.

For a moment they were both silent, staring at each other in utter bewilderment.

“Don’t act like you had no idea how…” her hands flailed, as if state the obvious. And he knew what she meant. He did. But Draco also wanted to hear her say. Something teasing and perhaps a bit mean made him pretend confusion.

“You were quite… good-looking.” The woman stuttered, looking at some imaginary point on the ground. “And you had girls eating out of your hand. Could have had any one of them.” This last bit trailed off into a whisper.

Either the poison was going to kill him, or she was. That’s it. He wasn’t going to make it out of here without burning, one way or another.

“I didn’t want any of them. They weren’t clever enough.” He murmured, letting it hang in the air. Hermione’s hazel eyes met his and in them he saw confusion, desire, and fear. The last of which made his heart ache and the burn subside.

Without another word, she spun on her heal and marched towards the old hut. Draco kept pace, thinking about everything that had transpired between the two of them, knowing that he’d had no right to tease her, but not regretting it one bit.

Death by Hermione didn’t seem so bad.

Once they reached the large hut, however, some of Draco’s own anxieties came crawling back, clawing their way up into his chest. What if Hagrid turned him away? What if he learned who Hermione was trying to heal and decided he wasn’t worth the trouble? It’s not like they had gotten along, exactly. And his family did such terrible things… Bad blood and all.

The large man, who still stood many feet taller than Draco, despite his own stature, opened the ancient wooden door before Hermione could even knock. Hugs and tears were exchanged, all the while the two laughed.

As soon as the gamekeeper noticed she had brought company, however, Hagrid stopped and turned a smiling face to him.

Only to gasp a moment later when he recognized Draco.

“Is tha’ who I think it is?”

“Yes, and I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Draco, who had waited quietly, stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Perhaps it was the years without human company, or that he only remembered the feeble manners driven into him by his family. Either way, it was terribly awkward for everyone involved.

The giant of a gamekeeper looked at the offered hand with an undiscernible face behind scraggly hair. Just when Draco was about to give up and turn back, Hagrid’s great bushy beard twitched merrily and he chuckled.

“Oy. It’s about time.” Hagrid muttered, foregoing the handshake and wrapping Draco in a fierce hug. Hermione sniggers were muffled, but he could still hear them. Bloody girl found this funny.

Tea and some terribly hard cakes were offered, though Hermione must have known not to bother with them. As the trio sat in the comfortable large room, one that reminded Draco of his hillside abode, Hermione related the tale of their circumstances.

She spoke of her travels north to seek out the Pooka, following rumors of the mysterious beast. How weeks in the forests, alone and half ready to quit, had forced her to the Norwegian coast where she’d spotted it once or twice.

 The seaside observations, the fast dash through the woods. Hagrid, who was absolutely hanging on to her every word, would pipe in with a question or two about the Pooka, to which Hermione would gladly recount.

Draco, too, listened quietly, not having heard her tale. Despite the vague pain in his leg, the near-death experiences, and the emotional trauma, he was absolutely glad all of this happened, if only to watch her speak with such vigor and fire.

He could tell why they called her wild.

“And then, by some crazy sort of fate, there he was. Middle of the field.” Hermione turned, guilt and hurt squashing the fire that had lit her eyes only moments ago.

“It got ya, didn’ it.” Hagrid grunted, turning his attention to Draco for the first time since the tale began.

“On my leg. Bit of a nasty cut.” He shrugged, never taking his eyes from hers. He didn’t care if the other man noticed the tension. Draco refused to break contact.

“There’s a poison in the Pooka’s hooves. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen.” Her voice sounded so broken, so frustrated. In that moment, Draco hated himself. He hated that he was the reason for the fire to vanish from her gaze. Hated that he had caused her this pain and guilt.

“Hermione.” He muttered, wanting to say… something… anything to ease her hurt but not knowing what.

The fire crackled happily, unaware of the silent trio, each in their own heads. Outside, the sun had long since set, taking with it the crimson sky and the warmer breeze. A chill crept in through the open window, kept only at bay by the fires heat.

“Hagrid, I need to find Red Silverweed.” Resolve and stubbornness broke the spell of melancholy that had settled in-between them. Hermione suddenly smiled gently at him, eyes still on his even as her words were directed towards the giant man.

“Right. Well, I’m not one ter be walkin about the castle, especially down in the dungeons. But,” The man muttered, shifting his large weight and patting his body several times over before finding the right pocket. He pulled out a large ring that held nearly three dozen keys. Different shapes, sizes, even materials.

It didn’t take him long however to procure the right one, despite this.

“There you go. Be careful now, I don’t need ter be awoken by the castle alarms and whatnot.” The man said gruffly, walking them to the cottage door.

“Thank you, Hagrid! You truly are the best.” Hermione smiled, reaching up to kiss the bushy faced man on his cheek. Hagrid, smiling brightly turned warm eyes upon Draco.

“When yer all healed and proper, I’d like ta invite you over fer some tea. Fancy a visit?”

“Of course.” Draco replied without hesitation, unbidden and honest, which surprised him deeply. Not only had he meant it, but the mans kindness, even after all these years, meant that maybe… Maybe Draco could still exist here. Back home.

This thought, and all many others kept him silent the entire walk back to the castle. Even in the heavy cloak of darkness, Hermione knew the way, leading without fear through the winding paths.

All the while Draco thought about their meeting. She’d said it was fate. And maybe it was.

A sudden halt and a hand clutching shook him from his mind.

They were inside the castle, second floor, if he remembered correctly. The hallways were dark, but Draco quickly realized they were not alone.

The Hufflepuff boy from earlier was sneaking alongside the opposite wall, unaware of the two observers.

Draco nudged Hermione, bringing her attention to the opposite end of the hallway, where the Slytherin girl was tiptoeing.

A midnight meeting. Kisses exchanged in the dark between the young and in love. It was a beautiful moment that perhaps they shouldn’t be witnessing.

A few seconds slipped by before a loud crash broke the spell of romance. A meow and the tell-tale sniffles of the old caretaker, Filch, made everyone panic. The two students took off down in the opposite direction of the noise, leaving Draco and Hermione no where to go.

Except, perhaps…

Draco pulled his frozen companion down through a small gap in the wall, just between a tapestry and a pillar.

Hermione might remember the path to Hagrid’s like the back of her hand, but Draco had memorized every little nook and cranny, every prime hiding spot from Filch.

It was no bigger than a broom closet. Their bodies were squeezed together, both muffling giggles and grunts. It was much smaller than he remembered but then again, he’d been quite a bit smaller, and without a companion.

Hermione gasped as his hands pulled her in closer, making sure her cloak hadn’t been peaking out. In turn, her hands came up to rest on his chest. Their breaths were heavy, excitement and panic mingled with something much more sinful. Both of them felt it.

Draco thought for sure that Filch would hear them and it’d be all over for their adventure.

But as their breathing calmed, he could hear the faint steps of Filch moving away from their hiding spot. Seconds ticked by, their bodies frozen, clinging to each other.

Draco couldn’t see Hermione, not in the inky darkness, but he could feel her body. Every inch of her wonderful body was pressed tightly against his, starting an aching fire that swirled around his very soul.  

And he felt the sudden, overpowering urge to kiss her. Properly snog the daylights of the wild girl whom he’d had a crush on since childhood.

Hermione, of course, beat him to it.

The soft curve of her lips teased his, barely there. A whisper of silk that ran along his mouth, his chin, and then back, tormenting him with its gentleness. Her fingers splayed openly on his chest, and even through the layers of fabric, he could feel their heat.

Madness was a symptom of the poison, she told him long ago. Maybe this was the maddens she spoke of, because Draco found he didn’t want this to end. No, he wanted so much more of her.

Without regard, he deepened the kiss, pulling her up to meet his hungry mouth. Their lips clashed, fighting for victory. Hands roamed, under his shift, scraping nails down his taunt abdomen. His moan of pleasure only heightened her desire as she nipped his lower lip.

Heavy breaths and soft moans of bliss engulfed them. The tiny hiding place became a heaven of passion as their kiss became hungry, desperate, and rough.

In this moment, he wanted nothing more then to lift her legs around his waist, thrust into her, and fuck until they both died of pleasure.

But even through the haze of lust, Draco knew this wasn’t the place. Wasn’t the way she deserved to be had.

“Hermione.” Draco gasped, still kissing a trail of hot licks up her throat.

Her fingers were entwined in his hair not pulling but also not letting go.

“Hmm.” She hummed, sounding drunk and glorious.

“We should-,” Draco forced himself to pull back, gently untangling her fingers. “Get going. To the potions lab.”

Her body stiffened for a moment, and Draco thought he must be the dumbest man on earth. But then the woman _actually_ _giggled._ Merlin’s beard.

“Oi. Did you pull me into one of your hidden snogging spots?” Hermione poked his rib, the tension mostly cleared.

“You brat.” He chuckled, taking her hand.

Without another word, the duo made their way through the halls, both high on some lustful buzz. Draco was smiling for the first time in nearly ten years, having properly kissed one of the wildest women he’d known.

His only thought was that he could die happy after this night. Whether or not he was cured. He’d die so gloriously happy.


End file.
